


Leave Your Hat On

by TheDVirus



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Burlesque Club, Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Anal Play, Angst, Boss/Employee Relationship, Burlesque, Character Death, Dancing, Demisexuality, Drug Use, Fake Character Death, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Hallucinations, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Kissing, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Masturbation, Mentor/Protégé, Murder, Non-Consensual Drug Use, One-Sided Attraction, Past Child Abuse, Pole Dancing, Shyness, Strip Tease, Strippers & Strip Clubs, Stripping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-25
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2018-12-06 22:28:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 55,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11610237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDVirus/pseuds/TheDVirus
Summary: The Penguin, owner of Gotham's most popular night spot hires a promising new talent, Edward Nygma, for his new strip tease. But can the manager keep his hands off the merchandise?A prompt from @nygmobblespot ;)





	1. Exposure

‘Stop! Stop. That’s quite enough of that’.

The male stripper halted immediately, his arms half hanging out of the tuxedo jacket he had been gradually removing.

‘Huh?’ 

Oswald’s eyes narrowed at the dull reply. He steepled his fingers and regarded the prospective employee icily. Just another dolt with more muscle than brains. He ignored Butch’s heavy sigh from beside him as he put the remote that controlled the music down.

Butch felt sorry for the unfortunate stripper. He’d been on the receiving end of Oswald’s displeasure and knew how isolating and intimidating it could be fully clothed. Never mind standing up on a stage in your underwear and a dinner jacket that was too small for you.  
The act had started well. The stripper had come out onto the stage obscured by a large silk curtain allowing them to only see his silhouette. As the music had started up his form had been good but he had begun to falter when Butch had deliberately sped up, slowed down and stopped the music for a brief period. When the set time limit had expired, Oswald had signalled for the curtain to be dropped and evidently was unimpressed with what he had witnessed.  
Butch glanced down at the list of people they had shortlisted for interview and pursed his lips. It did not make promising reading. Oswald’s high standards had pruned the list so much that there was only one more dancer to see. If the next poor SOB (through some miracle) got hired, they would only have three male strippers on the payroll. Butch had started with a list of thirty. 

Oswald deliberately said nothing for a few moments, keeping his stare locked on the hapless man standing on stage. It was only when the man began to self-consciously replace his jacket that Oswald spoke.

‘Why do you want to work here?’

Oswald gritted his teeth when he saw the stripper look around as if hoping someone would give him an answer.  
Butch exhaled slowly: that had not been a smart move.  
It was an easy question: Oswald had asked every interviewee the same thing. He just wanted them to say something nice about the Iceberg Lounge. To explain why it was a more desirable destination for them than any other strip joint in Gotham.  
There were plenty of reasons: the staff were better paid, the club lacked the sleaziness commonly associated with such establishments and catered to a better class of clientele. Oswald’s strict hiring policy and standards meant it couldn’t even be referred to as a ‘strip club’ by any employee.  
But so far, only two interviewees had given satisfactory (and suitably flattering) answers.  
The reply the stripper on stage gave was not one of them.

‘Huh?’ he repeated, jaw slack and thick brow furrowed in confusion.

Oswald asked the question again, this time slowly punctuating each word for emphasis.

‘’Cause I saw the poster’, the stripper said, sweat visibly beading on his forehead.

Oswald and Butch both knew the sweat was nothing to do with the heat of the stage lights.

‘There are plenty of other places looking for male strippers’, Oswald said, fingers tapping on the table, ‘Why pick this one?’

‘’Cause you’re paying more?’

‘For quality, yes. Not for lacklustre goods such as yourself’.

Oswald poured himself another glass of wine and swirled it before downing it in one gulp. He looked up to see the stripper still there, standing dumbly.

‘Get out!’ Oswald shouted, angered that the stripper had not picked up on the dismissal in his tone.

This time the stripper understood and practically fled the stage, dropping the dinner jacket in his haste to get out of Oswald’s presence.

‘And another one bites the dust’, Butch commented, scratching out the latest prospect’s name, ‘One more to go and we’re done’.

‘Thank God’, Oswald groused.

‘What was wrong with him?’

‘I’ve seen houseplants with more brain cells’.

‘Not really what people are paying to see’, Butch said gently, ‘He had real impressive credentials’.

Oswald sneered, unimpressed by the implications of the word ‘credentials’. It took more than a gym membership to be considered attractive. The man he had just dismissed may have had more meat on him than a butcher’s shop window but butcher’s shop windows were hardly known for their eroticism.

‘When I opened this place I set out to elevate the standard of this industry’, Oswald said as he watched the floor staff re-set the stage for the next prospect, ‘Not to wallow in mediocrity’.

‘That’s real admirable’, Butch said honestly, ‘But, Penguin, at the end of the day we’re a strip joint and-‘

‘A burlesque club Butch’.

‘Well whatever we are, we gotta cater to the entire audience and that means male strippers’.

‘I agree but I don’t care how many interviews I have to do, how many people I need to get thrown out of this establishment or how many resumes I need to read. People come here expecting the best and the best they shall have. If you recall I did the exact same thing with the female strippers’.

Butch did remember: their interview process had been more akin to a ‘Miss World’ pageant than anything else. To Penguin’s credit though, the process had paid off with the girls that were hired capable of multiple additional talent acts beyond just dancing and taking their clothes off. As a result of the variety acts, the Iceberg Lounge could take advantage of the ‘family friendly’ demographic on selected days before the more adult entertainment started at night.  
The magician act was especially popular and Butch was always impressed by the explicit version of her multiple handkerchiefs trick. He still hadn’t figured out how she could hide them all up her-

‘Butch, focus please’.

Butch blinked as Oswald clicked his fingers just beneath his nose. 

‘Huh?’ 

‘Don’t tell me he was contagious’, Oswald said, rubbing his eyes wearily, ‘I asked you, ‘Who’s next?’’

 

Ed took a deep breath and licked his lips nervously.

‘I can do this’, he whispered, glancing at his reflection in the ready room mirror.

Not for the first time that night he cursed his earlier indecision at whether to apply for the job or not. When he had finally decided doing it was better than not doing it after a week of deliberations and practicing his routine (just in case), he had arrived late and had been forced to accept the last slot of the night.  
As a result he had watched all the other acts already leave the room. Every one had seemed much more experienced and confident than he was and it boded ill that only three had voiced their success when they returned to get dressed and collect their things.  
He had just witnessed the departure of a massive man whose facial expression had been akin to that of a shellshocked child after a severe dressing down.  
Ed had asked him politely how things had gone. The man had only managed to shake his head in response before leaving without getting dressed again.  
He had heard the other men discussing the interview panel's high standards and his brain whirled as he wondered if his planned routine would be enough to impress them.

_‘You don’t really believe that do you?’_

‘I’m here aren’t I?’ Ed said sternly, ignoring the sinking feeling in his stomach when he noticed his reflection was not copying him.

He tutted and tried to fix his bowtie without looking at the mirror. Every interviewee had been provided with the same outfit, a black tuxedo. Save for the length of the legs, Ed’s fit him quite nicely. He hoped the interviewer wouldn’t compare his slim frame to the more muscular specimens that had come before. Perhaps the tuxedos were deliberately small to accentuate the muscles beneath? If that was the case, Ed had little to show off.

_‘Despite your better judgment and quaking in your boots’._

‘Nervousness is natural before going on stage’.

_‘And before taking your clothes off in front of complete strangers? Have you considered that your therapist may have meant something else when she said you needed to empower yourself?’_

‘This way we… _I_ get paid for it’.

_‘Don’t pretend this is about money. Your job at the GCPD pays the bills perfectly well. Is that why you decided to do this? Because if you screw up, it doesn’t matter? Or is it to spite Dad for all those times he said you'd end up in a place just like this?’_

‘If it’s not about money then what is it about?’

_‘Your desperate, pathetic need for positive validation and attention? Admit it Eddie, you like it when someone’s watching. That’s why you look in the mirror when you mast-’_

Ed closed his eyes to block out his sneering reflection and took deep, calming breaths just as his therapist told him to. He chided himself internally for replying out loud to his hallucination.  
He wasn’t real. He had never been real. He was just an overenthusiastic projection of Ed’s subconscious created as a coping mechanism for childhood abuse. But he wasn’t being abused anymore and he didn’t need the coping mechanism. 

‘I am in control’, he whispered, ‘I am in control’.

‘Edward Nygma’.

Ed nearly jumped out of his skin until he realised he was being summoned on stage over the PA system.  
He inhaled shakily, psyching himself up as he removed his glasses, folding them carefully on top of the clothes he had arrived to the 'interview' in.  
Ignoring his doppleganger’s laughter as he passed the mirror, he gripped the rails tightly and strode up the stairs to the backstage area.

He emerged onto the stage and thought at first that the stage curtains were closed. As he approached centre stage, he realised it was a large, translucent silk curtain. A pole set into a heavy, circular base was sitting on stage.  
Ed could see his shadow looming dark and tall ahead of him on the curtain and realised the interview panel would have a perfect view of his outline.  
Though the curtain blocked his view (not that he would have been able to see much without his glasses anyway) he could make out two figures sitting at a table near the stage: one large, broad shouldered man and a smaller figure. Ed couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman.

‘I’m sorry I only signed up today’, Ed said, feeling the interviewers watching him through the curtain, ‘I hope I didn’t inconvenience you’.

Butch noted Oswald’s surprised blink.  
An apology to start with: that was promising.

‘Don’t worry about it’, Butch said when Oswald did not reply, ‘Show us what you got’.

He clicked the newcomer’s chosen song on and was surprised to hear a sultry sounding jazz beat instead of the pulsing beats and rave music they had been listening to for most of the night.

Ed breathed a sigh of relief as he counted down the intro to his song.  
So, it was all being done behind a curtain? He guessed it made sense: what better way to help interviewees settle in gradually? It was probably to help them build up their confidence before exposing them to a crowd.  
Reassured by the consideration of his boundaries, Ed walked forward as the song began to pick up. 

‘Kinda skinny’, Butch observed quietly as they watched Nygma’s outline walk to the pole.

‘Makes a change’, Oswald replied, watching Nygma as he began his routine, ‘Interesting stage name he’s chosen’.

‘It’s not a stage name’.

‘Really?’ Oswald asked, intrigued. 

He made a mental checklist of what he observed behind the curtain: slender, long limbs, confident shoulders back as he began to grind languidly on the pole, the slight hesitance in Nygma’s soft, cultured voice…

‘Speaking of change’, Oswald said and waved his hand, trying to keep his mind on the task at hand.

Butch began to mess with the music as Oswald leant forward, watching Nygma’s every move critically.

Ed smiled as he heard the music slow down then speed up again.  
Relishing that there was to be an element of challenge after all, he adjusted his speed to match the music effortlessly. He knew the song so well he could anticipate every beat and even took advantage of the altered pace to throw in some extra moves.

‘He’s good’, Butch said, nodding in approval.

Oswald gave a ‘hmm’ in response.  
Butch’s statement had in fact been an understatement.  
Oswald’s mother enjoyed ballet and had fostered a healthy love for the art and dance in general in her son. Nygma’s dance on the surface was just like any other ‘bump and grind’ routine but there was an artistry there, a subconscious message of some kind.  
Oswald didn’t know why but the dance was sucking him in. Nygma’s movements were strong but controlled with just enough flare to entice the eye. It was more akin to a mating display than a lowbrow strip tease.  
When he saw Nygma tear open his jacket and fling it away, arms spread wide, Oswald was struck by the easy pride in the gesture. The strength in the pose was akin to a bronzed Roman statue.  
Oswald was so taken by the eroticism and dominance of Nygma’s pose that he clicked his fingers before he knew what he was doing.  
He just knew he had to see him!

Ed froze as the curtain suddenly fell away, the cool breeze hitting his bare chest.  
He thought at first that something had gone wrong. Had he tripped on a wire or something?  
But then, as he looked about uncertainly, he met the eyes of the smaller man he had glimpsed through the curtain.

‘Oh dear’, he whispered, sweat beading on his forehead as he recognised the figure as The Penguin. King of Gotham’s underworld.

Oswald’s eyes widened at the figure on stage.  
Edward Nygma was totally unlike the seemingly endless parade of amateur body builders, dance school drop outs and steroid enthusiasts he had been forced to endure previously.  
Ed was tall and lithe with lean muscle beneath pale skin. Dark liquid eyes looked into Oswald’s own above two pink cheeks. Oswald was intrigued how self-conscious Edward looked now he was exposed. It was so at odds with how he had been dancing.  
It was as if Edward was hiding something inside him.  
Like a chrysalis. 

Once he had counted to one hundred Mississippi and the two men still hadn’t stopped staring at each other Butch cleared his throat pointedly.  
Oswald shot him an annoyed look even though he knew Butch’s intervention had been totally justified before returning his attention to Edward.

‘Are you alright Mr Nygma?’ Oswald asked, fixing his jacket.

'Please call me Ed!' Ed nodded enthusiastically even as his brain whirled at the revelation.  
He knew The Penguin owned The Lounge. Everybody did.  
But he hadn’t expected to be performing in front of him.  
_Taking his clothes off in front of him!_

‘And yes!’ Ed cried before returning his voice to a more conversational tone, ‘Yeah I'm alright, the uh-the lights just…’

He trailed off under the steady stare from those glass green eyes and gave a nervous laugh as he slowly retrieved his jacket from the floor.

‘Why do you want to work here?’ Oswald asked.

Ed replied without missing a beat, identifying this as the ‘Q and A’ portion of the interview. He had memorised hundreds of potential questions as well as numerous responses for each. The answers were almost robotic, his mouth moving of its own accord as Ed’s nerves buzzed around his brain.

‘First of all, I like the name. It’s called the ‘Iceberg Lounge’ and it’s all about ‘exposure’. Did you come up with it?’

Oswald blinked. He hadn’t expected a question in return. Never mind a witty observation. It was a pleasant surprise.

‘The name yes. The double entendre no. I wish I had now though. Is that the only reason?’

‘Well, my grandmother was a burlesque dancer (when she wasn’t my grandmother obviously!)’

Ed gave a rather high pitched laugh and continued talking even as he mentally kicked himself for his rambling.

‘And-and I remember she showed me some old photos of her on stage. She said she never felt happier or more free than when she was up there’.

‘And I’m trying to explore a dark side of myself in a controlled environment’, he thought internally, ‘It needs an outlet and nobody in the audience knows my name. On this stage I can be whoever I want’.

‘Is that so?’ Oswald said thoughtfully, 'Im flattered that you consider this a 'controlled environment''.

Ed swallowed hard and babbled an incoherent response: he hadn't realised he had spoken aloud. He would have to watch that. If he didn’t watch his step he might blurt out he was a GCPD employee. He wasn’t sure how Penguin would take that.

Oswald was too lost in his own thoughts to notice Ed’s discomfort.  
Such an honest answer made up his mind for him.

‘You’re hired’, he said simply.

Ed just about managed to blurt out ‘thank you’ several times before practically fleeing the stage, wondering what on Earth he had gotten himself in to even as he swelled with success.

‘You sure about this?’ Butch asked, placing a hesitant tick beside Nygma’s name, ‘That kid looked like a deer in headlights’.

‘He didn’t run though’, Oswald said, still looking where Edward had standing.

‘He was good until we got rid of the curtain’, Butch said diplomatically, ‘And there ain’t gonna be a curtain when he’s doin’ it for real’.

‘This is a learning experience for all of us Butch’, Oswald replied, retaking his seat, ‘Besides, he’s the only one who gave me a straight answer’.

‘A really weird answer’, Butch commented, genuinely surprised at Oswald’s forgiving attitude.

What was so different about this guy? Usually Oswald leapt on hesitation with all the ferocity of a shark scenting blood in the water. And what had been with that weird stare? The jazz music had made the whole scene kinda….

‘He interests me’, Oswald said, heedless of Butch’s confusion, ‘He's like clay ready to be remade. I have an interest in building things Butch. And I’ve never tried it with a person before’.


	2. Cards on the Table

Ed splashed the cold water into his face, praying the frigid temperature would help dispel the burning of his cheeks.  
He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until he saw spots. He was trying to purge the image of Flass and his lackeys laughing at him from his all too recent memory.

What had he been thinking?!

He sighed heavily and reached for some paper towels to dry his face. He tried to ignore his doppleganger smirking at him from inside the mirror.  
Ed hated to admit it but he had every right to look smug. He had reprimanded him many times about the idea of leaving a card on Miss Kringle’s desk. He had derided the notion as cliché, insipid, uninspired, amidst a host of other synonyms for ‘an awful idea’. Ed had mentally silenced him (not without effort) and with shaking fingers placed the card tentatively on Kristen’s unattended desk. He had thought of everything: an envelope to match the high quality paper he had chosen, the text inside inscribed with a fountain pen to add a lyrical quality to compensate for his inexperienced poetry, embossed, subtle flowers as headers and footers on the front of the card and finally just a quick spritz of vanilla on the envelope to bring to mind the pleasant, warm feelings that seeing Miss Kringle always aroused in Ed. 

The only thing he hadn’t considered was the possibility of someone else reading it.

Ed angrily scrunched up the paper towels, knuckles as white as the material.

But why, of all people, did it have to be Arnold Flass?!  
The way they had jeered and mocked him as he had entered Miss Kringle’s office as they brandished the card as damning evidence against him had been bad enough but it was tolerable. Ed was well used to bullies and their predatory idiocy. It was hard to care what a bunch of apes thought when you knew you were smarter than them. Their mockery stung but it was bearable.  
What had really pierced Ed to the core was how Miss Kringle had looked. Eyes downcast and arms folded, she had seemed uncomfortable and exasperated as she had asked them to stop. Ed felt guilty for having caused her trouble. Flass and his cronies were making it impossible for her to get any work done.  
As he had walked out of the office, he had reflected on how whether he tried big gestures (like reorganising Miss Kringle’s files) or small ones (like the card), all he ever seemed to do was cause trouble for her.  
With his track record, he wasn’t even sure how to go about apologising to her.   
How could he have been so stupid?!

Despite his agitation, or perhaps because of the exhaustion of it, he yawned.  
He picked up his glasses and began to clean them.  
Yes, not enough sleep. That was it. That was why the card had seemed like such a good idea.  
He hadn’t slept well the night before. 

He had been too rattled after the interview in The Iceberg Lounge.  
And exhilarated.  
He had done it.   
He had really done it.  
But now what?

At first he had been excited as he had left the club, awash with success at having obtained a position against such stiff competition.  
But as his adrenaline had worn off during the walk home, he had begun to wonder what exactly he had gotten himself into.  
He had known the club was owned by The Penguin but had never thought to see him in person. Much less be hired by him personally.  
What had been intended as a therapeutic outlet was now a risk.  
The Penguin despite his pretences at being a ‘legitimate businessman’ was a big player in Gotham’s underworld and smart enough to never leave any concrete evidence of this fact. It was why Ed had been so surprised to see him: usually The Penguin stayed away from his businesses, trusting a vast network of underlings to run things on his behalf.  
What was different about The Iceberg Lounge?  
Despite the fear of Penguin discovering his day job, Ed was intrigued.  
Not just by the new horizon of experience his new part time job offered but by Penguin himself.   
He had not behaved like the remorseless, cold blooded thug that most people at the station described him as. In fact Ed had found him perfectly polite, even understanding of his inexperience. He also didn’t understand the unflattering way people in the station referred to The Penguin’s physical appearance. He had been slighter than Ed had expected (he had anticipated a much rounder figure with such a nickname) but Ed saw nothing particularly ‘freakish’ or ‘ugly’ about him.   
Then again, he was no prize himself.

He sighed again.  
Kristen was a prize and the pursuit of her was another reason he was trying to build his confidence by working at The Lounge. Kristen liked a man with a backbone, who was unafraid of what others thought of him. Ed needed to become that man.  
And if it meant working for The Penguin, what could be considered a metaphorical deal with the devil, then that was what he would do.

Feeling slightly better, he left the locker room and headed for the vending machines to get a cup of coffee.   
As he made his way along the walkway above the bullpen however, his eyes were drawn to a familiar figure making their way across the floor.  
The limping gait was distinctive.   
As was the birdlike crest of hair.

‘What’s he doing here?’ he wondered aloud as he began to walk down the stairs, altering his route immediately.

 _‘What the Hell are you doing?!’_ his shadow self hissed inside his brain, _‘Are you crazy?’_

‘Don’t call me that’, Ed whispered, eyes fixed on Penguin as he kept walking.

_‘Fine, you’re not crazy. You’re just stupid! You can’t go up to him here where everyone can see!’_

‘I just want a closer look’.

_‘At what?!’_

Ed didn’t answer, just shook his head to silence the rebellious voice griping at him.   
This was a sign. As much as Ed was a scientist by nature, he also fostered a healthy belief in that which could not be explained. Penguin being at the station was not a coincidence. This was fate trying to tell him something. 

Ed had been telling the truth: he had not intended to go up to Penguin and yet, in the process of trying to decipher the clue that destiny seemed to have placed in his path, he found himself standing right beside him. He nearly jumped when he heard Penguin speak.

‘Can I help you?’

Ed was taken aback by the hard undertone in Penguin’s voice. It was so unlike the gentle voice that had encouraged him the night before and the eyes that coldly regarded him had more in common with the detached stare of a bird of prey.  
Despite Penguin’s aloof demeanour, Ed couldn’t suppress feeling a giddy rush.   
Penguin didn’t recognise him!  
His disguise from the night before actually worked! All he had had to do was gel his hair back and remove his glasses and it was like he was a different person!

‘I don’t think so’, Ed said, smiling, ‘Can you?’

Penguin’s eyes narrowed at Ed’s relaxed attitude and he smiled humourlessly.

‘What do you want?’

Ed opened his mouth but then slowly closed it again as he felt sweat break out on his forehead. He had been so wrapped up in his curiosity about the odds of Penguin’s appearance at the station that he suddenly realised he had not had the forethought to come up with anything to say.   
So, his brain tried to be helpful and (rather unhelpfully) supplied him with:

‘What I want the poor have, the rich need and if you’ll eat it you’ll die’.

Ed mentally kicked himself as he saw Penguin blink in confusion.’

‘Is this-? Are you asking me a riddle?’ Penguin asked, brow furrowed.

‘Do you like riddles?’ 

Penguin inhaled slowly and Ed’s heart sank. He was used to that physical signal of swiftly dwindling patience.

‘Do you know who I am?’ Penguin asked.

‘Y-Yes’.

‘Then you also know you’re standing too close’, Penguin pronounced.

Ed took a pointed step back but as he looked down at his own feet, his treacherous brain kicked in again and a factoid escaped his lips before he could stop it.

‘Did you know that male emperor penguins keep their eggs warm by balancing them on their feet? Neat huh?’

The Penguin gave him a long, steely look. Ed met his gaze, keenly of the impression that to look away would be a sign of weakness. Their connection was only broken when Penguin abruptly turned on his heel and stalked away.  
Ed exhaled shakily and watched him go, simultaneously fascinated and intimidated. 

 

Ed cursed inwardly as he missed his cue for a second time but carried on as though nothing had happened.  
The Lounge was empty save for The Penguin, watching Ed dance from the frontmost table to the stage.   
Ed knew dancing in front of others would be a challenge without the curtain acting as a ‘security blanket’ but he had not anticipated having to do it in front of The Penguin alone. Something about being watched by those bright, watchful green eyes and knowing what kind of person lurked behind them was intimidating.  
The Penguin gave no sign he noticed Ed’s nervousness. He was sipping a glass of expensive wine as he watched Ed’s routine. He had approached Ed as soon as he had arrived and brought him to this room, away from the main audience (the ‘VIP room’ he called it) for a few practice sessions before integrating him into the main roster.  
Ed knew he should be grateful but, as he misjudged a step and had to take two mini steps to compensate, all he was feeling was a growing sense of frustration.

Oswald took another sip of his wine and ran a finger distractedly along the rim.  
Without the curtain it was like Ed was a totally different person: shaky and unfocused instead of the sensual, confident mover Oswald had glimpsed through the curtain the night before.  
He had given a pronounced nervous start when Oswald had approached him earlier in the night and had seemed ill at ease with the prospect of a private session.  
Oswald had an inkling why. That is, he _hoped_ he knew why.  
It would ruffle his feathers to have to admit he had hired the wrong man for the job to Butch and he was not prepared to concede defeat without at least trying to catch a glimpse of the dancer who had captivated him the night before.  
He was also not prepared to give up on Edward Nygma so quickly. Everyone had to start somewhere and it wasn’t as if he was not trying. He was just getting in his own way.  
But his inexperience had to be rectified. If Oswald could see it, an audience comprised of dozens of eyes would see it a mile away despite Ed’s game face. He had only taken his jacket off and already he was losing it.  
Oswald reached over and picked up the remote for the music system and held the button down. The music gradually grew quieter until it stopped altogether.  
Ed had stopped dancing as soon as he had detected the dwindling volume, rubbing his arms as if he were cold.

‘I’m sorry’, he said quietly, ‘I-I don’t know what’s wrong’.

‘Different doing it without the curtain isn’t it?’

Ed nodded and Oswald was glad to see him give a small smile at the lack of blame in his voice. Oswald beckoned him to approach.

Ed put his jacket back on and descended the stairs of the stage. At a pointed nod from Oswald, he took a seat at the same table.  
His fingers drummed as he watched Penguin pour him a drink.  
His encounter with him at the GCPD had rattled him more than he had thought. It was only with the benefit of hindsight, once the novelty of encountering Penguin had worn off, that he realised his unorthodox approach had carried the very real risk of angering a criminal mastermind. That usually carried fatal consequences and his internal, darker self had provided him with a vivid, graphic list of such consequences as he had finished his shift at the GCPD and arrived at the Lounge that night.

‘May I offer some advice?’ Penguin asked with surprising gentleness.

Ed nodded eagerly, swallowing hard.

‘I apologise for being so blunt but you need to loosen up. Lose yourself in the role. Decide who you want to be then become that person’.

Ed nodded again, absorbing the advice but Oswald could see him trying to figure out a practical way to follow it. Oswald decided to draw on his own experience.

‘I had to make that choice once too’, he said thoughtfully, ‘You don’t get to be the ‘King of Gotham’ by carrying an umbrella and giving back rubs your whole life. I knew who I wanted to be so I made it happen. I can see it in you Ed. The same hunger. I wouldn’t have hired you if I didn’t think you could do the same thing I did’.

Ed took the offered glass in both hands, engaged by The Penguin’s story and easy praise.

‘That being said your stage technique could use some work’, The Penguin said gently, ‘After all: more confidence for you means more money for me’. 

‘What did you have in mind?’ Ed asked, slowly starting to relax.

‘What are you doing tomorrow night?’ 

‘Whatever you’re about to propose’, Ed responded quickly.

Penguin gave an appreciative laugh at Ed’s obedience.

‘Good answer. Shall we say your place?’ 

‘Not-not here?’

‘I think you’ll feel more comfortable in a familiar setting. You live on Grundy right?’

Ed didn’t remember giving Penguin the address but he dallied over his registration form so often he must have written it in at some point.

‘It’s a date!’ he said brightly, ‘Well, not-not a date but an-an appointment I guess?’

‘Have another drink Ed. Go on. I won’t bite’.

Ed smiled weakly and obliged, throat dry.   
The idea of having Penguin in his apartment was daunting but strangely intriguing. Ed loved secrets and this would be a big one. He would go to work at the GCPD while harbouring the secret knowledge he would be playing host to one of the most feared criminals in Gotham’s underworld. As a bonus, Penguin would have no idea that his student was working for the GCPD.   
The concept of a double life was incredibly exciting to Ed.

‘Not like in the station today right?’ Penguin asked.

It took a great deal of effort for Ed not to gag on his drink. He settled for taking another reflexive mouthful even as he felt his stomach churn unpleasantly.

‘Listen’, Penguin continued, apparently oblivious to Ed’s growing unease, ‘I am sorry for being so abrasive to you. I swear it was not in any way genuine. If you’re going to come up to me in the GCPD again, please do it when nobody’s watching. I hadn’t expected to see you before telling you that’.

‘What?’ Ed asked, hating how dumb he sounded.

‘If they think we’re associates it could go badly for you’, Penguin said with what Ed was surprised to find seemed to be genuine concern, ‘ In fact it’s best if we ignore each other altogether if we cross paths in the station again’.

‘You-you knew I worked for the GCPD?’

‘Edward Nygma’s not the most common name and I ran every successful applicant through a background check. You thought I didn’t recognise you today? Just because you had your hair slicked back and you weren’t wearing your glasses at interview? Give me some credit’.

That explained how Penguin knew his address.

‘And you’re letting me work here?’ Ed asked, brow furrowed.

Penguin nodded, face darkening.

‘Despite what some people on the force think, this business is totally legitimate. What does it matter to me if a GCPD employee works here part time if I have nothing to hide? That being said, a mole (even a detected one) could prove to be a liability. So-‘

He held out a hand in an inviting gesture.

‘-are you a mole? I think there’s a rule that you have to tell me if I ask’.

‘Common misconception’, Ed said but then quickly added, ‘Ah, but no, I’m not a mole. Scout’s honour. I’m not even an officer. I’m in forensics. Besides if the GCPD were going to send a man in here undercover it’d be as a customer, not a stripper. I mean, where am I going to hide a wire?’

Penguin nodded in agreement. 

‘There are some in the GCPD that would consider you working here as an act of treachery’.

Ed’s mouth tightened as he remembered Flass’ harsh laughter, echoed by his lackeys, the borderline tolerance of Detective Bullock and the pitying undertones in Jim Gordon’s smile.

‘You have to feel loyalty to someone before you can betray them’, he said coldly.

Oswald was surprised at the venom in the answer but intrigued.

‘Why did you come up to me in the station?’ he asked, ‘That penguin fact just has to be shared?’

‘I don’t know’, Ed replied, taking another drink, ‘Just...curious I suppose. As for the, um, trivia, I’m sorry if I babbled, I just do that when-when I’m nervous’.

‘Don’t apologise, like I said I had to be rude to you not to arouse suspicions. Why were you nervous? We were surrounded by police officers. If anything, you should be more nervous now’.

‘No because, you’re… _it’s_ different now’.

‘In what way?’

‘When I saw you today, outside, away from this place, in enemy territory, it was like you were a different person. Untouchable somehow. You probably didn’t notice it but when you walked through that station it was like Moses parting the Red Sea. People respect you, not-not that they don’t respect you here of course! But when you’re someone like me who nobody respects you tend to notice…Sorry I’m babbling again. I just, I feel like I can learn a lot from you’.

Oswald swelled at Ed’s flattering description and held up a hand to halt Ed continuing with any more self-recrimination.

‘So, people are terrified of me (for good reason I might add) and you still approached me? To ask me a riddle and tell me a penguin fact?’

Ed nodded sheepishly and Penguin burst into peals of laughter.  
Ed winced reflexively, expecting the usual demeaning insults about his eccentricity but was surprised to detect no mockery in the laughter. It sounded lighter. Ed could almost call it friendly. As was Penguin’s smile.

‘You really are an enigma. So, do you still want to work here?’

‘I have a choice?’

‘There’s always a choice’, Penguin said, refilling Ed’s empty glass.

Ed watched the red liquid glide into the glass and considered the choices.  
Continue being a nobody, or become who he was supposed to be. Strong. Confident. Someone Kristen Kringle wouldn’t be embarrassed to be seen with. Someone she will want to be with. Who won’t care about people talking behind his back or snickering to his face.   
If the GCPD found out, Ed would face dismissal and would most likely lose his job. But he had known that as soon as he had submitted his application for the job at the Lounge. Even without the criminal connections of its owner, the GCPD was unlikely to look favourable on Ed's choice of part time employment.  
All the more reason to ensure they didn't find out. It would be easy. Laughably easy to cover his tracks. It wasn't as if cops frequented the Lounge: they knew instinctively they would be unwelcome. It was one of the reasons Ed had decided to apply for a job there in the first place.  
Penguin was right. There was a choice.  
But only one option would get Ed what he wanted. 

‘Is 6 o clock tomorrow night okay for you?` Ed asked.

‘It’s an appointment’, Penguin smiled, employing Ed’s chosen designation for their meeting, ‘We’re going to need space and privacy’.

‘Roger dodger Mr Penguin. Thank you’.

‘Don’t mention it’.

‘Don’t worry. I won’t’, Ed said and held up his glass in salute.

Penguin clinked it and they both drank, both gratified at their new arrangement, grateful to have cleared the air and eager to begin.


	3. Food for Thought

‘Butch said he talked to you about it’.

Penguin rolled his eyes but plastered on what he hoped was a genuine smile as he turned. On the stairs above him, Barbara Kean and Tabitha Dumas, the most popular duo in the club, regarded him expectantly. Barbara was smiling sweetly, no doubt trying to appeal to his empathy whereas Tabitha simply regarded him coolly, going for the more forceful approach.  
It was she who had mentioned Butch’s name. Penguin noted the change: she had always previously referred to him as Gilzean (if she even bothered to use a name instead of some disparaging nickname). He would have to check that with Butch before he left.  
Their request was the exact same request Penguin had been hearing for weeks now.  
They wanted top billing and they wanted a raise.  
Penguin had tried to avoid them as usual but they had cornered him as he had exited his office after getting ready for his appointment with Ed.  
Due to his hatred for tardiness he was keen to be on his way and so was not in the best frame of mind to discuss the rights of the workers.  
Especially with workers that were currently in his bad books.

‘I have told him numerous times and I will now tell you: I will think about it!’ Penguin said, ‘Now, please, I have an appointment to keep and you have customers waiting’.

The two women watched him go, both hoping he could feel their eyes burning into the back of that disco vampire hairstyle as he left.

‘I’m getting really sick of hearing ‘I’ll think about it’’, Barbara grumbled, drumming her fingers on the bannister, ‘He knows how much money we make for this place. How long can he hold a grudge?!’

‘Don't worry’, Tabitha said coldly, ‘Once we find out what makes Penguin tick, we'll be running this place in no time’.

‘Tabby, you’ve been saying ever since he hired us’, Barbara said, rubbing her shoulder soothingly, ‘You really think you're gonna find a sore spot? Pretty obvious Penguin doesn’t care about anyone but himself’.

‘Everyone's got a weak point. He's just better at hiding it’.

Tabitha pulled out her cellphone and clicked the only number in the contact list. After a single ring, her contact picked up.

‘He’s coming downstairs now’, Tabitha said, ‘Time to turn on that charm brother’.

 

'Mr Cobblepot!’

'Mr Galavan', Oswald said simply, shaking Theo’s outstretched hand, resigned to yet another uncomfortable conversation.

He cursed his lack of attention.  
He hadn’t noticed Theo Galavan sitting at the bar until it was too late to avoid him.  
It was small comfort to realise he wouldn’t have been able to anyway: he had to go through the main Lounge to leave via the main entrance.  
He had to check some paperwork with Butch before he left.

'So glad I caught you’, Theo smiled, wagging a finger in mock reproach, ‘You're an awfully hard man to find'.

'Yes well, as I've said before, you would really have to make an appointment-‘

'Unfortunately’, Theo interrupted, ‘My own schedule's quite full right now. Expanding the empire, demolishing some ruins, you know how it is being an entrepreneur yourself'.

Oswald knew all about the ruins Theo was talking about.  
Tenements and social housing the city desperately needed. Now gone to make way for ‘Galavan Towers’ luxury apartments, the tenants all either bought off or more likely bullied into signing away their homes so Galavan could have his vanity project.  
Galavan had not been in Gotham long but seemed to have made it his personal mission to tear down as much of the city’s older buildings as possible and get his name on the billboards boasting of the ‘new and improved’ Gotham he was building in its place.  
It rankled Oswald’s sensibilities to see so many fine old buildings torn down so quickly and it annoyed him even more that an interloper like Galavan seemed to consider himself the next Thomas Wayne.

'And yet you still find the time to get out and enjoy a drink?’ Oswald asked innocently, ‘I’m jealous'.

As if to demonstrate how easy it was, Theo waved at the bartender. She obligingly refilled his drink.

‘It seems it was a worthwhile investment’, Theo said, seemingly ignoring Oswald’s stealthy insult, ‘I was hoping to run into you'.

'Yes, it’s certainly lucky’, Oswald replied, silently swearing to hang whoever who had told Theo he would be at the Lounge that evening, ‘Sadly, I'm actually on my way out'.

Oswald made to move past him but Theo laid a firm yet companionable hand on his shoulder.  
It took a lot of self-restraint not to shake him off.

'This won't take long’, Theo said in a friendly tone, ‘Just wanted to make sure you'd received my latest offer?'

'I have’, Oswald said, looking pointedly at Theo’s hand on his shoulder, ‘And my answer is still 'no''.

Oswald smirked internally as Theo’s smile grew somewhat brittle even as he kept his own facial expression carefully neutral.  
What had Galavan expected?  
He had made no secret of his desire to acquire the Iceberg Lounge but Oswald knew he had no intention of maintaining it or helping it grow.  
Theo wanted to knock down the building that housed it. To put up yet another featureless, ‘modern’ establishment selling overpriced coffee no doubt.  
Theo’s facial expression at being denied his prize was more valuable to Oswald than any monetary value Theo could offer him.  
It was so much more satisfying to see it in person rather than imagine it over the other end of a phone.

'That’s…unfortunate', Theo conceded, removing his hand pointedly.

'Yes, well, that's business’, Oswald shrugged, ‘You can't always get what you want by adding an extra zero or two'.

'Seems like an odd business strategy though. I thought my offer was rather generous’.

‘I'm trying to build something here, not make a quick buck'.

'Business is booming?’ Theo asked, raising a disbelieving eyebrow, ‘Even after that scandal with Mayor James?'

Oswald indicated the packed Lounge around them with a sweep of an arm. As if on cue, there was a round of applause and laughter from the crowd as Jervis Tetch, the Lounge’s resident hypnotist continued his act on the stage. Despite his eccentric demeanour, which included a proclivity for rhyming couplets, he was one of the most popular acts on the card.

If Theo had come to the Lounge to cast doubts on its ability to cater to all or to call its popularity into question, he had picked the wrong night.

'Penguins are good at weathering storms’, Oswald replied, ‘The answer's 'no' and it's final. Enjoy your evening Mr Galavan. Oh, and good luck with your own bid for the mayoral office'.

‘Thank you but I don't think I'm going to need it', Theo said, turning back round to face the bar.

‘You might’, Oswald thought to himself as he continued on his way, ‘Since you don't seem to know when to quit’.

 

‘Hey Boss, I been meaning to ask, why don’t we promote Babs and Tabs?’

Oswald gave no sign he had heard him, choosing instead to point at one of the designs Butch had laid out on the counter for the Lounge’s new business cards.

‘They bring in the cash, the customers like them’, Butch continued, filing the chosen design carefully, ‘They deserve a raise right?’

‘Their popularity is the only reason they’re still working here after that fiasco with the mayor last month’.

‘It’s not their fault Aubrey forgot the safe word’. 

‘But it is their fault for laughing about it in front of him when I ordered them to apologise. We still haven’t recouped the clients we lost!’

‘Ya see Theo Galavan in there?’ Butch asked, tactfully changing the subject as he gave Oswald the documents he had requested from the accounting, ‘He says he's increased his offer for this place again’.

‘As far as I’m concerned, Galavan’s offers all add up to zero and I told him so’, Oswald said, flicking through the application forms, ‘I won’t be back tonight so you’ll need to close up and check the take at closing time’.

Oswald found Ed’s application form right at the back and removed it from the others. He folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. He didn’t want any prying eyes to figure out where he was going.  
He knew one of the reasons he had been so successful in his ventures was because he compartmentalized every aspect of his life and work. It didn’t bother Oswald that the left hand didn’t know what the right was doing: as long as they kept performing their assigned tasks under his watchful eye.

‘You got it’, Butch said dutifully, taking the clipboard back as Oswald went to the cloakroom.

‘Oh, by the way’, Oswald asked in a deliberately light-hearted tone as he selected his coat from a hook, ‘Since when have you and Tabitha been an item?’

‘How’d you-‘

Butch’s question died in his throat as Penguin regarded him archly.  
There was no point denying it.

‘Uh, a couple weeks now…Is, is it a problem?’

‘Not as long as it doesn’t interfere with your work. Yours or hers’.

Butch, attempting to stay on Oswald’s good side, helped pull his coat over his shoulders.

‘But my indulgence of puppy love has limits Butch’, Penguin continued, doing up his buttons, ‘I run a professional establishment and I expect my employees to reflect that. Miss Dumas and Miss Kean are to do their own dirty work, not use you as a mouthpiece. Understand?’

‘Yes Boss’.

Penguin picked up his cane and strode out the door, the subtle gold tones of his coat shining as it whipped like a cape.

‘Maybe try followin’ your own advice?’ Butch mumbled sourly once he was sure Oswald was out of earshot.

What did Penguin see in a beanpole like Nygma anyway? Butch knew that had to be who Penguin was going to see: there was no other reason why he would ask Butch to pull the paperwork with Ed’s personal details on it.  
What good was a stripper who got stage fright?!

Then again, Butch supposed he shouldn't doubt Penguin's judgment.  
When Penguin had first said about the idea of opening a strip club, Butch had been on board immediately. It was a reliable way to make money and a good way to build on the successes Penguin had already had with his other nightclubs throughout the city.  
But as they had purchased the building and begun remodelling, Butch had started to have misgivings.  
Turns out Penguin didn't want a strip club. Or at least not any kind of strip club that butch was familiar with. No neon signs, no condom machines in the bathrooms and the first John to try a casual grope would lose fingers.  
And did.  
People were permitted to arrange private sessions with certain strippers of course (Aubrey James had arranged just such a session with Babs and Tabs) but only under the terms of Penguin’s strict code of conduct which were agreed in advance by both customer and employee along with a non-disclosure agreement. Sometimes at the start, customers had tried to take things further than agreed but thanks to a few very public examples of the consequences of doing so, that had stopped.  
These private sessions could be anything from a private lap dance, a sex session or even a romantic candlelit dinner. Penguin said he had gotten the idea from 'host clubs' in Japan.  
Sometimes people didn't want to drool over bare skin. Sometimes they just wanted someone to listen, someone to make them feel special. The upper floors were for these sessions and each room included a bed just in case: it was why Penguin had renovated the entire building.

Butch had understood penguin's desire to explore other aspects of the business but when Penguin had approved the installation of baby changing facilities in the Lounge main bathrooms, Butch had finally snapped.  
What kind of place were they building here?!  
Then Penguin had told him: the Lounge was an experiment in maximising appeal. He explained he had had enough of standard night clubs and felt the existing strip joints in Gotham were hackneyed and tacky. He wanted to challenge himself to make something new and unique.  
Something special.  
Penguin called it a burlesque club (though he didn't believe the name did his ambition justice) because strippers weren't the only thing 'on the menu'.  
Butch still hadn't liked the idea.  
What was wrong with what worked well for other strip clubs?  
Penguin’s idea had reminded him of a weird saying his grandma used to say: the place was neither 'fish or fowl'.  
When he had voiced this, Penguin had just seemed amused.

'Just like a penguin then', he had said.

But Butch's misgivings had been obliterated when he had seen the numbers coming in though.  
Penguins' methods (and reputation) kept the bad customers (the ones with overenthusiastic hands, overactive sex drives and empty pockets) away.  
The adult entertainment didn't start until 9pm and this rule was heavily advertised outside and inside the Lounge. As a result, they had families coming in during the day for lunch making extra money when most other nightclubs were closed and those looking for some 'company' knew to stay away until their designated 'opening time' at 9pm.

But this new recruit, Nygma, seemed way below Penguin's usual hiring standards.  
Penguin hadn't even asked if the guy could do any tricks during the interview.  
Usually the strippers had to have an extra talent so they could fill an empty slot in the family friendly entertainment if needed. Tabs had a very popular routine where she used her whip to crack glass bottles and Barbara was a gymnast.  
Unless… Nygma have other (not so family friendly) talents Penguin was keen to exploit?

As Butch was trying to stop the images of Ed’s potential ‘talents’ rising to his mind, he nearly jumped when he felt someone tap his shoulder.  
He turned to see Barbara perched on the reception counter.  
Butch was always dumbfounded how someone who made a habit of dressing in bright pink could be so stealthy!  
At least Tabitha, standing beside Barbara was wearing her usual black leather. 

‘Pengy got a date huh?’ she asked.

Butch shook his head, moving the checklist away from Barbara’s prying fingers. He winked playfully at Tabitha who was standing next to her and earned a smile in return.

‘It’s an appointment’, he corrected.

‘Yeah right’, Tabitha said, ‘He only whips out the ‘bling coat’ for special occasions. Who’s he trying to impress?’

‘Come on Butch, spill’, Barbara teased, ‘Who's the lucky lady?’

 

‘I can’t believe you made dinner’, Oswald said with a smile as he accepted a bitesize toasted tuna fish sandwich.

Despite fate's best efforts to delay him, the limo had dropped him at the corner of Grundy exactly on time. Ed's apartment had been easy to find and Oswald found himself wondering at the decor inside despite its relatively small size. It was an odd combination of industrial and retro chic. It was very Ed. Oswald liked when someone's surroundings reflected their personality.

Ed shrugged as he placed the plate of small finger sandwiches on the table between them and poured them both a glass of wine.

‘It’s nothing really’, he shrugged, taking a seat, ‘Just some snacks’.

He watched in anticipation as Oswald took a bite of the sandwich. It had felt good to cook for more than one, even if the preparation had been basic. He had just wanted to show his appreciation for Oswald’s understanding and the time he was giving up to tutor him.

‘This is delicious!’ Oswald gushed, holding up a hand to keep the mouthful of tuna from escaping, ‘How on Earth are you still single?’

‘Pretty sure it’s my own fault’, Ed admitted abashedly, taking a beef sandwich for himself, ‘I have a bad habit of getting in my own way’.

‘How’d you wind up here anyway?’ Oswald asked, taking a sip of wine, ‘You’re not a born Gothamite’.

Ed chewed thoughtfully and swallowed before answering.

‘Not much to tell. I came to Gotham on a college scholarship and just stuck around after I graduated. I like it here. It’s exciting’.

‘It’s funny. Most people avoid Gotham’.

‘I just...wanted somewhere where I could disappear’.

‘Why’s that?’

Ed cursed the slip up and tried to backtrack.  
He wasn’t about to share the real reason for his displacement with an employer.

‘I wasn’t being…specific-I-I mean- don't you ever wish you could just leave it all behind and have a fresh start?’

Oswald detected the nervousness in Ed’s voice but let the matter drop.  
In Gotham, everyone had secrets and you learned very quickly not to open any dark doors people didn’t hold open for you.

‘Speaking of a fresh start’, Oswald said, tactfully changing the subject, ‘You need to think about your aesthetic for the Lounge’.

‘Is that like my costume?’

‘Not strictly a costume. Just something that will help you get into ‘character’. Some customers seem to find it more enticing when performers keep a small signature article of clothing on when they have nothing else on. Socks or a hat or glasses for instance’.

‘Or a mask? I think it might help with the nerves and just in case any of my colleagues from my day job happen to-‘

‘Say no more. Decide what you want, bring me the idea and we fund the costume. Just to warn you, the likes of pirate and cowboy are already taken’. 

‘You're not happy with their choices?’ Ed asked, amused by the distasteful face Oswald had made.

‘They're what I expected from the likes of them’.

‘But you expect better from me?’

‘Why else do you think I'm giving you private training?’

‘Oh!’ Ed exclaimed, unable to keep a happy smile at Oswald’s compliments from his face despite his genuine surprise, ‘I assumed everyone got this training?’

‘No. So don't go bragging about it’, Oswald joked.

‘What about physical training?’

‘I’ll arrange for some equipment to be delivered here, practice pole and so on and I’ll leave you an exercise regimen but we don't want to lose your body type. We have enough muscle heads and an audience wants variety. You need to pick a persona that capitalises on what you bring to the table’.

‘How do I figure that out?’

‘I’d like to try a tactic taught to me by a previous employer if that’s alright?’

‘Yes, yes of course!’

‘Seduce me’.

Oswald smiled fondly at Ed’s dumfounded facial expression. He was sure he had made the same face all those years ago when Fish Mooney had asked him to do the same to achieve a job as a lowly umbrella boy. He had never been able to figure out exactly why it had been a requirement to do so.

‘Wha-‘ Ed began before shaking his head to clear it, ‘What do you mean by ‘seduce’ you?’

‘Exactly what I said. It’s not just women you’re going to be ‘baring all’ for remember?’

‘That’s true’, Ed conceded.

Feeling a little regret for having made Ed uncomfortable despite the necessity of it, Oswald took a softer tone.

‘Don’t worry, I’m not asking you to take off any clothes or even touch me. Just start your routine, focusing only on your attitude and your body language. Okay?’

‘Rodger dodger’.

‘Good, now, pretend I'm a woman’.

Oswald put one leg over the other and leant his head wistfully on his hand.  
Ed laughed at the overexaggerated pose as Oswald regarded his nails dramatically.

‘I'm tired after a day of work’, Oswald briefed, ‘I'm bored and I crave excitement. I have also only had one reasonably priced drink’.

‘Not an expensive one with a sparkler?’ Ed asked thinking of the higher alcohol intake associated with such drinks. 

‘Making things easy for you won't actually help you. Besides, you seem the type to enjoy a challenge’.

‘Just, before we get started, when I’m ‘working’ for real, are there any other…’services’ I’m expected to provide? I know in this particular profession very often lines can be blurred. People make assumptions’.

‘You’re not expected to do anything you don’t want to’, Oswald said reassuringly, ‘I assure you I'm very strict about that particular policy but if you ever happen to feel like ‘dipping your wick’, feel free. Provided of course that your ‘client’ is also agreeable. Now, on to your dilemma, think of it… like a puzzle to solve. What would this client find attractive?’

Ed tried to begin but Oswald’s steady stare was too distracting. He tried to touch Oswald but couldn’t figure out where to start.  
So he placed both hands on Oswald’s shoulders and just…stood there. His brain felt like a computer that had malfunctioned: too many thoughts jostling for position leaving him unable to choose.  
Oswald gave a gentle laugh but Ed could tell there was no unkindness in it.

‘I see what you mean’, Oswald said, ‘You really do get in your own way’.

‘I’m sorry’.

‘Don’t apologise, it’s not bad. Some people like the ‘shy bookish’ act but it won’t translate to stage. You need to sell the experience of being seduced and you need to sell it to everyone in the room’.

‘I’m being too subtle?’

‘Not for a private dance but it’s usually going to be more than one person watching. So, go on Ed, give me something to look at’.

Ed nodded, brain instinctively whirring as it kicked into high gear.  
But Ed halted it.  
This was the problem.  
Overthinking things.  
He needed a distraction.

‘Is it cheating to use music?’ he asked.

‘Of course not. You’ll have it when you’re really doing it’.

Ed walked to his music player.  
He flipped through a few vinyls before selecting one. He knew his music taste was an acquired one so chose a more contemporary, accessible song.  
He clicked it into place and flicked on the player, taking position.

As the song began, he swayed along to the music, working with the rhythm.  
Closing his eyes, he focused only on the beat and his breathing, consciously emptying his mind of any distractions.  
Oswald had given him a puzzle. he had to solve it.  
What would Oswald like from a partner?  
Oswald liked strength. Oswald liked a challenge. Oswald liked to take his time.  
The strategy was so obvious it was practically instinctive.  
Ed started his routine.

He reached up to his tie. Stroking the smooth material with his fingers, he pulled on it to loosen it, breathing lightly yet audibly. After a few moments of this, he reached up and began to undo the tie slowly, rotating his head and neck languidly.  
Ed watched Oswald out of the corner of his half-hooded eyes as he pulled the tie from his collar and slid the supple silk between his fingers. He kissed the end and let his fingers, tie still entwined between them, drift downwards.  
He advanced towards the seated Oswald, unbuckling his belt with an almost musical clinking sound until he stood less than a foot away from Oswald.

‘One look at you and I can’t disguise’, he sang soflty along with the singer on the record, ‘I’ve got hungry eyes’.

Feeling a rush of success as he saw Oswald’s widened eyes and his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed, Ed boldly looped the tie around Oswald’s neck and drew him closer.

Oswald’s fingers drummed nervously on the arms of his chair as he wondered why his heart was beating so fast.  
As he felt the material of the tie pulling him in, Oswald felt his cheeks burning and his stomach erupt into butterflies.  
Ed’s change in demeanour was mesmerising to watch.  
Despite the warmth suffusing his body as Ed continued to speak sing along with the song in a low voice, Oswald was confused.  
He had never felt like this watching a routine before, whether the performer was male or female. In fact, the racier a routine, the more tedious Oswald usually found it to sit through. After a while, grinding and gasping just became empty, repetitive noise. Butch had often commented on Oswald’s remarkable self-control but yet here he was, practically melting and Ed had only taken his tie off! 

As Ed tossed his head back haughtily, Oswald inhaled slowly, trying to calm himself down.  
Was this, was this how it always was for other people?!  
Oswald exhaled shakily as Ed leant forward, invading his personal space and watched hungrily as Ed took off his glasses.  
One of Ed’s hands was still pulling Oswald closer using the tie but the other had slipped to the back of Oswald’s head.  
As Ed’s fingers ruffled his hair, Oswald had to bite his lip to keep from moaning as he gazed deep into Ed’s eyes.  
They were warm and intense, the light creating golden centres in the dark pupils and iris.  
Ed was good. He was very good.  
One eyebrow kinked upwards slightly and Oswald was aroused (there was no other word for it) to realise that Ed was wordlessly challenging him.  
The unspoken question of ‘is this good enough?’ rang out from Ed’s smirking lips loud and clear.  
Oswald realised that this was what he had caught a glimpse of through the curtain two nights before.  
Had he been feeling the prelude to this strong sensation when he had seen Ed’s silhouette behind the curtain on interview night?  
Ed was right.  
There was a darkness in him.  
But it was so beautiful.  
Why was Ed so determined to hide it?

‘There you are’, Oswald thought to himself as Ed began to lean in, ‘The real you’.

The music died down and Oswald tapped Ed’s shoulder abruptly as a signal to stop.

 

Internally, Ed breathed a sigh of relief as he straightened, removing the tie from Oswald’s neck.  
If Oswald hadn’t stopped him, he had no idea what he had planned to do next!  
He supposed being lost in the moment had been a good thing but doubted Penguin, as his employer, would have taken kindly to a peck on the cheek, no matter how ‘in character’ Ed had been at the time!

 

‘One step at a time’, Oswald said, clearing his throat, ‘But good. Better than good in fact’. 

 

‘Thank you!’ Ed said brightly, his seductive demeanour vanishing immediately, ‘By the way, I've been meaning to ask: why are you so interested in the Lounge? You have lots of other businesses. What makes this one so deserving of your attention?’

‘You know you’re the second person today to ask me that’, Oswald said but before he could say more, his cellphone rang.

Noting Ed’s permissive wave of a hand as he began clearing the table, Oswald answered the phone.

Ed tried to busy himself stacking the dishes but could not help but overhear snippets of Penguin’s conversation.

‘Yes, it’s later than I realised….you shouldn’t have stayed up…no I’m not working too hard….don’t worry I’ll be home soon…love you too’.

Ed was intrigued. Did Penguin have a girlfriend?  
The fond way he was smiling as he hung up the phone certainly suggested so.

‘Apologies Ed’, he said, slipping the phone back into his trouser pocket, ‘But I’m afraid the lesson is over for tonight. I didn’t realise it was so late. I’ll call my limo and get out of your way’.

‘Where do you need to go?’ Ed asked, ‘I could drive you, if you like?’

‘I wouldn’t want to impose-‘

‘No! No it’s no imposition at all! In fact I insist’.

‘Assertive. You’re learning’.

 

As Ed parked the car in the space Oswald had indicated, he was taken aback by the building beside it.  
Ed hadn’t expected a successful club owner (and criminal mastermind) like The Penguin to live in such an old, unloved looking brownstone. According to rumour, Oswald owned a mansion outside the city limits. Unless that was merely a business address or a fakeout? It made sense Oswald wouldn’t want people to know exactly where he laid his head at night.  
He was so busy trying to ascertain the age of the faded, cracked brickwork that he almost didn't hear Oswald thank him.  
Ed waved a hand denoting that their excursion had not inconvenienced him and Oswald got out of the car.  
Ed watched to make sure Oswald could ascend the stoop stairs alright with his limp then put the car in gear, feeling satisfied and excited.  
He considered the idea that if Oswald Cobblepot, a ruthless criminal mastermind could find love and someone who would accept him then surely Ed had a chance to win Miss Kringle over?  
As he turned the car to head home, he swelled with pride as he replayed Oswald’s praise in his head. Nobody ever treated him that way in the GCPD: they seemed to have little to no appreciation for his talents, no matter how much extra work he did for them.  
As he drove, he began to dedicate his brain to analysing the potential diet plan Oswald had explained to him on the trip over and simultaneously began thinking about his persona.  
He wanted something suave. Sophisticated. Confident but with a dark, exciting edge.  
He laughed as he realised in essence he was describing Oswald.  
He supposed it made sense: he was his new mentor and they did say imitation was the sincerest form of flattery.  
And maybe, just maybe, Kristen Kringle would appreciate it too.

 

The door had barely closed before Oswald found himself enveloped in a hug.  
His mother patted his back twice as usual to welcome him home and smiled at him.  
Oswald adjusted the shawl she had draped around her shoulders, ensuring it was symmetrical before planting a kiss on her cheek.

‘I’m sorry’, he said, ‘I lost track of time’.

‘It’s alright’, his mother said, smiling, ‘I’m sorry I worry. I should remember Fridays are busy for you. Making all that money’.

‘How are you feeling?’

‘Do not fuss!’ his mother chided, waving a hand dismissively, ‘Your mother is tough old bird!’

‘I know but did you take your medicine?’

‘Of course! How else am I going to get better to come see your new club?’

‘You’ll see it soon. I promise. Things are going really well Mother. It’s almost perfect’.

She beamed at him and Oswald felt happiness well up inside him.  
Unbeknownst to anyone but him, the Lounge was really for his mother.  
A business he could actually show her and be proud of: somewhere classy, theatrical and beautiful.  
Even the building he had purchased in which to house it was a surprise.  
His mother had often told stories of how, when they were younger, she had met his father there in secret to avoid his disapproving parents. She still kept photographs of the original club and Oswald had tried to recapture the original aesthetic as best he could.  
Once she finally shook off the flu that had been dogging her for the last few weeks he would take her.  
He hoped she was as excited as he was.

‘You hire the new people you were seeing?’ his mother asked, ‘Any good ones?’

‘One’, Oswald said, taking the chance to dispose of Ed’s torn up application form by throwing it in the trash.

‘Just remember’, his mother chided half-jokingly, ‘Don’t get your head turned by pair of pretty eyes under long lashes’.

‘I won’t. I promise’.

‘I know you won’t. Such a clever boy’, his mother said, stifling a yawn, ‘Goodnight Oswald’.

‘Goodnight Mother. Sleep well’.

As he watched his mother head towards her bedroom, Oswald felt his heart flutter even as he realised he may have just told an unwitting lie.  
Ed did have very striking eyes.


	4. So Close, Yet So Far

Ed whistled cheerily as he walked towards Oswald’s office in the Lounge.  
Flicking through the small notebook in his hands, he smiled at the numerous sketches. The research he had been conducting into his persona over the last two weeks had reminded him of one of his old school projects. Oswald may think it unnecessary but Ed had found it useful to compile his ideas in a notebook.  
Fittingly, he had Kristen to thank for his ‘Eureka’ moment. He had noticed a worn paperback copy of ‘The Arrest of Arsene Lupin’ sitting on her desk earlier that day and all the ideas buzzing in his brain had suddenly combined into a single iconic figure.  
Of course! It was simple!  
Kristen craved romance and by all accounts had a proclivity for so called ‘bad boys’.  
What better fantasy than a gentleman thief to sweep her off her feet?  
Oswald was due to meet Ed at his apartment in an hour for their usual training session but Ed couldn’t wait to show him the results of his brainstorming and so had made a detour to the Lounge on his way home from the GCPD.

Oswald’s office door was slightly ajar and Ed slowed down as he began to discern voices from inside.

‘Certainly caught you with your hand in the honeypot didn’t we Mr Leonard?’

‘Mr Cobblepot, please-‘

There was a heavy sound and the unseen man (Mr Leonard) cried out in pain.

‘That’s Mr _Penguin_ to you’, Oswald continued, ‘If Theo Galavan is going to send people to spy in here, he should send someone who can keep their hands to themselves and not disrespect my employees’.

A low, wet sounding groan from Mr Leonard. 

‘Well, I hope you enjoyed your little grope because it’s not going to happen again’.

‘No!’ Leonard gasped desperately, fresh terror creeping into his voice, ‘No it won’t!’

‘I know’, Penguin replied thoughtfully, ‘I intend to make sure’.

A harsh snipping noise and a frantic, high pitched squealing.  
Another snipping noise, then another.  
Ed began to count.  
One, two, three, four-

He was distracted from his counting (and Mr Leonard’s continued screaming) by something rolling out through the crack in the doorway an out into the hall.  
The bloodied finger rolled a few inches along and bumped into the tip of Ed’s shoe.  
It was wearing a wedding ring.

Ed gave a compulsive shiver and adjusted his glasses with shaking fingers as he walked away.  
He wasn’t scared.  
Quite the contrary: he felt exhilarated.  
Mr Leonard had done something he should not have done and been stupid enough to get caught.  
You couldn’t have ‘sticky fingers’ or grope anyone if you didn’t have fingers.  
Penguin was just doing what was logical.  
What was morally right to do.

For a split second, Ed thought he could hear a woman screaming and felt something in his hand but it passed. Just another memory flash.  
That man had deserved it too.

 

Ed stepped down off the pole and rotated his shoulders.  
Oswald was watching from the sofa in Ed’s apartment, fingers steepled as he analysed Ed’s technique. Despite Oswald’s customary nod of approval, Ed wasn’t satisfied with his performance. He knew that it had gotten better with every training session thanks to Oswald’s constructive criticism and persistent practice but it still wasn’t perfect.  
Oswald hadn’t used the seduction technique again, choosing to focus instead on Ed’s posture, pole technique and body language.

‘I just can’t seem to keep the rotation going’, Ed observed, ‘I get two turns and then I have to readjust. I’ve seen Tabitha do six rotations without her feet touching the ground’.

‘You should let gravity do the work on the turn’, Oswald instructed, ‘Here, I’ll show you’.

‘Really?’ Ed asked, unable to keep a tone of disbelief from his voice as he watched Oswald rise carefully to his feet.

‘Hey, I wasn’t always a manager you know’, Oswald said indignantly as he took hold of the pole, ‘Had my fair share of rodeos’.

‘What kind of strip clubs allow rodeos?’ Ed joked.

‘Is that another one of your riddles?’ Oswald smirked, ‘Watch this: you might just learn something’.

So Ed watched.  
And was impressed.  
Oswald really knew what he was doing as he moved up on the pole and began to twirl and spin. He used his good ankle to propel himself around the pole, arm outstretched to carry him around to the next rotation and allow him to quickly change position.  
The fluidity of the motion almost made it look like Oswald wasn’t using the pole at all but rather spinning in mid-air. Much like a penguin, he was much more graceful in motion when not on land.

Until his bad knee accidentally made impact with the metal pole.  
Oswald cried out and lost his grip instantly, falling from the pole.  
Ed surged forward and caught him before he hit the floor.  
Ed blinked, surprised at his own reflexes and the ease with which he was supporting Oswald.  
Had Oswald always this light?  
Or had Ed put on some muscle thanks to the training?

Oswald for his part, felt his heart flutter at the concern on Ed’s face.  
Ed hadn’t even had time to think: he had just leapt forward and caught him.  
It felt odd but strangely…comforting to feel so secure in another person’s arms.  
Oswald felt himself beginning to blush as he realised Ed was looking at him and gave an off handed chuckle.

‘Well, at least the exercise regime seems to working’, Oswald commented, ‘Good catch’.

He patted Ed’s arm gratefully as Ed helped him to his feet.  
Wincing slightly, Oswald took a seat back on the sofa and reaching down, gingerly began to massage his ankle.

'I've been meaning to ask’, Ed said gently, taking a seat beside Oswald, ‘What happened to your leg?'

Oswald looked thoughtful.

'You ever heard of Fish Mooney?' he asked after a few minutes.

'Underworld boss’, Ed replied, his brain helpfully providing him with context, ‘Inactive for three years now, presumed dead. Notable for...flashy sense of style and ruthless character'.

'That sounded like something on a baseball card', Oswald laughed, 'But accurate'.

'Did you have something to do with her becoming inactive?’

Oswald gave a calm, almost cold, smile.

'You can't have a revolution without a few kings or queens losing their heads along the way. Why do you ask?'

'Just curious. Why did she hurt your leg?'

'Much like you on the pole, I moved too soon without a secure footing. She took exception to my ambition and asserted herself. With a titanium baseball bat. It never healed properly’.

Oswald hissed through clenched teeth as he rotated his ankle and began to rub his knee. Ed got up and began to boil the kettle for a hot water bottle, hoping some warmth applied to the throbbing area would ease Oswald’s pain.

'Why not get it fixed?’ he asked over his shoulder, ‘It looks painful'.

Oswald shook his head even as he smiled at Ed’s concern.

‘Too busy. Besides, the pain helps me remember. That must seem strange to someone like-'

Ed dropped the hot water bottle. It hit the kitchen floor with a harsh slapping noise and Ed braced himself on the sink as his vision swam.  
He wasn’t in his kitchen anymore. He was in his childhood kitchen, in the farmhouse.  
As water began to leak from the hot water bottle, Ed saw it as blood spreading over a linoleum floor.  
His mother screamed in the background.  
Or was it just the squeal of his kettle?  
He felt a tightness in his chest and shivered as numerous old scars began to itch just like earlier that day in the Lounge.  
Yes, he remembered every scar that bastard ever given him.  
He can feel the knife in his hand, the blood trickling through his fingers-

'Ed? Are you alright?'

Oswald’s quiet use of his name brought Ed back to reality.

'Actually I-' he began shakily but jumped in fright at the sudden noise of a cellphone.

He turned to see Oswald retrieve his phone from his jacket and answer. His smile as he initially answered faded as Ed watched. Ed strained to hear the person on the other end of the line but all he could hear was a muffled, professional sounding voice.

‘I need to go’, Oswald said abruptly, gasping as he put weight on his knee in his haste to rise.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘I have to-she-she’s-‘

‘Oswald, breathe’, Ed said, holding him by the shoulders, ‘Now, where do you need to go?’

Oswald inhaled and exhaled. Ed could feel him shaking.

‘Gotham General’, Oswald said in an odd, flat voice.

‘I’ll get my keys’, Ed said without hesitation.

 

Ed removed another piece of onion from the Chinese takeout he had ordered for lunch.  
He had hoped that the monotony of the task would have distracted him but it was no use.  
The memory of Oswald’s stricken face from the hospital the night before was still bothering him.  
Ed had driven him to Gotham General but Oswald had not let him accompany him inside, insisting that Ed had done enough and Oswald had to deal with ‘this’ himself.  
Ed had stayed for about ten minutes where Oswald had left him, not wishing to intrude but reluctant to leave Oswald without support at such a trying time. He had thought about contacting someone but realised he knew nothing about Oswald’s family or friends, never mind a phone number for either of the above.  
The rational (almost cold blooded) part of him reasoned that a hardened criminal mastermind like The Penguin would probably resent his presence or become insulted at Ed thinking he couldn’t deal with whatever crisis had occurred.  
But another part of Ed (vocal despite its much smaller size) had tried to convince him to go after Oswald. To show him that someone was there if he needed…what?  
Support? Friendship?  
After all he and Oswald were friends weren’t they?  
And the look on Oswald’s face…  
When Ed had come to the conclusion that Oswald was not re-emerging from the ward any time soon, he had left, theorising that if Oswald needed any help, he knew where to find him.  
He didn’t know whether the fact Oswald had not contacted him since was good news or bad news.  
As his eyes drifted around the room, they fell on some perfume samples on the workbench that he was matching for a case and his eyes light up with inspiration.  
He grabbed his coat and walked out, leaving his lunch untouched.

Kristen was talking to an officer when Ed returned to the GCPD.

Seeing Oswald rush to the hospital, Ed had experienced an epiphany.  
Life was short.  
Too short to be cowed by doubts and ‘what if’s’.  
He was still working on becoming the man Kristen deserved but there was no time like the present to lay some groundwork.  
He adjusted the bouquet of roses he had just bought behind his back and smoothed down his jacket.  
Worried his courage would fail him before she finished her conversation, he made the bold move of clearing his throat to attract her attention.

‘Oh, Mr. Nygma’, Kristen said as she turned.

She smiled at him which made Ed’s heart skip a beat. She hadn’t been smiling very often of late. It lit up her entire face.

‘Ms. Kringle, I was wondering if you had dinner plans this evening?’

The smile vanished.

‘Oh, um... actually, I... I do’, she said haltingly, ‘With Tom. Have-have you met Tom?’

Ed felt his own smile grow brittle as he noticed the officer Kristen had been speaking with casually drape his arm around her shoulders.  
Ed had not ‘met’ Tom but he knew him. Knew his type. All machismo, insensitivity, anti-intellectualism and dismissal.  
Unimpressive.

‘You're the guy that likes riddles’, Tom said easily, ‘Hey, what has hands but can't clap?’

‘A clock’, Ed answered automatically before he could stop the words.  
He hadn’t meant to dignify such a pathetic riddle with a response.

‘Correct’, Tom chuckled, ‘He’s good. You’re good’.

Ed ignored him. Kristen was not looking at Ed, instead looking at the floor with folded arms.  
Heartache mingled with shame at having caused Kristen discomfort in Ed’s whirling brain.

‘Am I correct to assume that this is your... uh, your new boyfriend?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I guess so’, Kristen said then gave a giggle as Dougherty playfully slapped her on the behind.

‘You betcha’, Dougherty confirmed.

‘Congratulations, sir’, Ed said stonily despite the disgust at the disrespectful gesture coiling in his gut.

‘Thank you’, Dougherty smirked then began to lead Kristen away, ‘It's nice to meet you Riddle man. Hey, next time... I'm gonna stump you!’

Ed did not reply. Just watched them go.  
Kristen looked so happy and carefree with him.  
Ed’s fingers curled tighter around the bouquet and he flinched as he felt the prick of thorns against his palm. Noticing a nearby waste basket, he strode over. He was about to throw the bouquet into the bin out of sheer petty jealousy when a thought occurred.  
Perhaps someone else would appreciate the blooms?  
And have more need of them.

Ed drove to the old brownstone building he sometimes dropped Oswald to after their training sessions and went inside. A glance at the names on the mailboxes had yielded the name ‘Kapelput’ which Ed reasoned was the original version of Oswald’s surname.  
As he made his way upstairs, he decided to leave the flowers in the hall outside the apartment rather than ring the bell. After all he had no idea what the situation was and had no wish to make a fool of himself for a second time on the same day.  
He had torn up the card that had addressed them to Kristen Kringle and replaced it with a card that simply read ‘From Edward Nygma’. At least Oswald would know who they were from.  
He walked along the corridors and soon located the door he was looking for.  
He could hear the noise of a television or radio from inside and placed the flowers leaning against the door frame so they wouldn’t be accidentally stepped on.

As he straightened up however, the door opened.  
Oswald blinked in surprise as he saw Ed, one hand holding a black trash bag.

‘Hello Oswald’, Ed said, taken aback by his employer’s sudden appearance, ‘I brought flowers. Is-is your-is the person alright?’

Oswald smiled as his surprise faded and nodded.

‘Just feeling a little faint is all. She took a fall but nothing’s broken’.

‘Oswald?’ came a female voice, ‘Is everything alright?’

‘Yes Mother!’ Oswald called back into the apartment, ‘You got some flowers’.

He placed the trashbag down as Ed handed him the bouquet.  
Oswald’s mother came into view and Ed was taken aback by how pale she was. A stark contrast to Oswald’s dark hair with skin even paler than his.  
She clapped her hands in glee at the roses and took a long sniff, smiling at the scent. Ed noted marks on her arm: recent injection sites.  
Was Oswald’s mother in poor health?  
It would explain the phone calls Oswald would often receive and why some training sessions had to be cut short.  
And to think Ed had assumed it had been a demanding girlfriend!  
He was distracted from putting the puzzle together by Oswald’s mother gently stroking his arm, the roses resting in the crook of her other arm.

‘Oswald, who is this handsome boy?’

Ed laughed, disarmed by the compliment but unsure how to respond.  
Oswald wasn’t much help either.

‘Mother, uh, this is, this-‘

Oswald looked at Ed helplessly with silent pleading in his gaze and Ed realised that Oswald’s mother must be unaware of the kind of business Oswald was involved in running.

‘I work for your son Ma’am’, Ed said, smiling, ‘I’m Edward Nygma’.

Ed noticed Oswald’s sigh of relief even if Oswald’s mother didn’t.

‘As a singer’, Oswald interjected as Ed planted a light kiss on the back of Gertrud’s offered hand, ‘In-in the Lounge’.

‘Oh!’ Gertrud gasped, eyes shining, ‘How glamorous! Will I get to hear you sing when I visit?’

‘Mother’, Oswald said gently, ‘You need to rest first’.

‘But you promised! For my birthday, I can come see your club’.

‘Yes but…That was before-Oh dear, look at the time! We need to get to work. I’ll meet you downstairs Ed and we’ll head to the Lounge’.

‘You are not off hook Oswald Chesterfield Kapelput’, Oswald’s mother chided her son before beaming at Ed, ‘Nice to meet you Edward. Such a nice boy to bring flowers for an old woman’.

‘It was my pleasure Ms Kapelput’.

‘Please call me Gertrud’, Gertrud called as Oswald gently but firmly ushered her back inside, ‘All my gentleman callers do!’

 

‘I’m sorry for intruding-‘

‘No! No. I-I’m glad you came’, Oswald replied, waving away Ed’s concerns, ‘Thank you for bringing her flowers’.

Ed, reassured that he had not overstepped after all, finished setting up the music system. Oswald had announced in the car ride to the Lounge that he had decided Ed was ready for his ‘final performance review’. Oswald had booked out one of the private rooms to allow for some privacy and had listened avidly to Ed’s description of his chosen persona.  
To Ed’s surprise he had even asked to see the notebook to get a better grasp of what Ed wanted for his costume. 

‘She doesn’t know about the more ‘risqué’ aspects of this place does she?’ Ed asked, checking the sound system was set up.

‘No and I want to keep it that way’, Oswald said, ‘I don’t even know why I promised her she could see it. As far as she knows this is a dinner club’.

‘This place is beautiful Oswald and you run it really well. It’s a shame that you can’t show her’.

‘I don’t know how I can’, Oswald said, downcast, ‘And with her being so frail, I…I want to make sure she’s safe’.

‘You know, if she really wants to come see it for her birthday, why not arrange a session in one of these rooms? Put your mother down as one of my guests and I’ll sing just for her. That way she won’t see anything you don’t want her to but she gets to see it and feel special on her birthday. More importantly if anybody sees her, they’ll just think she’s a guest so she’ll be safe from any of your enemies…’

Ed trailed off as he saw Oswald was staring at him, mouth agape.

‘Or I suppose if that’s no good-‘ Ed began to backtrack but Oswald suddenly seized him in a hug.

‘You’re a genius Ed!’ Oswald cried, ‘That’s perfect! I’ll make the arrangements’.

Ed felt his cheeks colour at the praise, elated at how happy Oswald was.  
He could see from the bags under Oswald’s watery eyes that he most likely hadn’t slept the night before.

‘You know it’s funny’, Ed said as Oswald finally released him from the hug, ‘I thought it was your girlfriend in the hospital’.

‘When did you realise it wasn’t?’ Oswald laughed, ‘I don’t even date’.

‘Really?’ Ed asked, taken aback by how easily Oswald admitted it.

‘Just…I dunno’, Oswald shrugged, ‘Never have the time I suppose. What about you?’

‘Maybe’, Ed said, trying to keep the image of Dougherty and Kristen out of his head, ‘Kind of depends on how things go tonight’.

‘Let’s get started then’, Oswald said, turning the lights down.

Ed took up position on the small stage and Oswald sat in front of it.  
Oswald flicked a switch beneath the table and green spotlights (Ed’s choice) began to dance along the walls.

‘Remember, just down to your briefs’, Oswald said, ‘Save the good stuff for paying customers’.

Ed nodded as he removed his glasses and Oswald cued Ed's chosen music.

Maybe it was the frustration he felt thinking of Kristen with that idiot Dougherty but Ed took a more assertive approach to the routine he and Oswald had planned as the first notes of ‘Tainted Love’ began to play from the speakers built into the corners of the room.

He didn’t use the pole at all, instead strutting along the stage, eyes locked on Oswald’s, almost in challenge, head lowered in false submission, daring the audience to look at him.  
He flung his jacket away unconcernedly, as if he couldn’t care less where it landed despite the fact it landed exactly where he intended it to. He smirked as he heard Oswald give an appreciative noise as Ed’s jacket ended up hanging neatly from the coat hook on the back of the door.

_‘Sometimes I feel I’ve got to-‘_

Two pelvic thrusts to accompany the beat of the music.

_‘Run away, I’ve got to-‘_

Another two. A nod of approval from Oswald as Ed moved to his shirt.

_‘Get away from the pain you drive into the heart of me!’_

Ed turned his back to Oswald, looking over his shoulder defiantly as he began to unbutton his shirt. He knew turning your back to the audience was bad form in classic theatre but he wanted to rile the audience up: they only got to see what Ed would let them see.  
They would be paying to see him but on his terms.  
That was how an alpha male operated wasn’t it?  
Oswald was certainly paying attention.  
That had to be a good sign.

_‘Once I ran to you, now I’ll run from you. This tainted love you’ve given, I give you all a boy can give you, take my tears and that’s not nearly all-‘_

Ed gave a longing moan as the singer sang the word ‘all’ and spun on his heel, discarding his shirt like a moulted skin. This time he kicked it away and ran his hands up his chest luxuriously as he rotated his hips.  
He bit his lower lip gently, feeling the points of his teeth as he descended the stairs from the stage.  
He advanced on Oswald, shoulders straight as he unbuckled his belt.  
Once removed he pulled it tight between both hands to create a noise like a whip crack in time with the beat.  
Oswald, entranced, gasped as Ed looped it around his neck and drew him close.  
Just as their faces were nearing however, Ed teasingly leapt back and did a twirl, throwing the belt away.  
Carried away by the music and how powerful he felt luxuriating in his new confident persona even without a costume, Ed felt no hesitation in undoing his fly.  
Using his hips to and using low movements as Oswald had taught him, he flawlessly moved his trousers down until he could step out of them.  
He stroked his groin and raised an eyebrow, ensuring Oswald would notice the silver umbrella on his black briefs.  
He had worn them in honour of the occasion: like a graduation gown or a wedding tuxedo.

_‘Sometimes I feel, I’ve got to-run away!’_

In defiance of the lyrics, he moved towards Oswald again languidly, in no rush but changing his expression to one of pure, animalistic hunger instead of proud indifference.  
Time to show the audience the beast they paid to see.  
Oswald was sitting on the bed so naturally, Ed straddled him, linking his arms behind Oswald’s neck as he regarded him.  
Despite his state of undress, he had never felt so in control.  
It was intoxicating.

‘Too close for you now Mr Penguin?’ he growled huskily.

Oswald felt a bead of sweat run down the side of his face and prayed Ed wouldn’t notice the bulge in his trousers.  
Too close?  
The Penguin knew Ed was already way too close: he knew about his injury, he knew where his mother lived, he knew she was sickly…  
Nobody could know about all those weak points and live.  
But Oswald knew that Ed could know and wouldn’t tell a soul.  
He just knew somehow that he could trust him.  
Even this proud, dark side of Ed that only he could unleash. That he owned.  
And a trustworthy man needed to be valued. And rewarded.  
It didn’t hurt that he was drop dead gorgeous.  
Ed smirked as he felt Oswald tuck something into the band of his briefs as an answer. He glanced down and the edge of a crisp 50 dollar bill stared back at him as the music began to die away.

‘Does that answer your question?’ Oswald smiled, tapping Ed’s idea notebook on the table, ‘Now, let’s get you to wardrobe’.


	5. Read Between The Lines

Ed slammed the door to his apartment closed, not caring if the neighbours heard it.  
He could barely hear anything over the rage flooding through his system, making his head ache and heart pound.  
He threw down the package he had found in the hallway and ran his hands through his hair in frustration.

In his mind’s eye, he replayed the events of the day.

He had been heading to the records room, as usual, to request some files for Detective Gordon when he had seen Kristen and Dougherty in hushed conversation.  
He had seen Kristen’s expression on his mother’s face enough times to know he had walked in on something dark and painful.  
Dougherty however had been smiling as he had spoken to Kristen gently.

‘So, you forgive me?’

A noncommittal ‘Mm-hm’ from Kristen and another when Dougherty mentioned seeing her that night.

Dougherty had left, giving Ed a bland greeting which Ed had half returned. Ed didn’t give a damn about ‘how things were hanging’.   
He cared about Kristen’s reddened eyes and shaky voice as she greeted him.  
Ed had seen the bruises when Kristen had reached down to retrieve the files he needed. Her cardigan had slipped up her arm and he had seen them.   
Purple and yellow.   
Recent.

‘Did Officer Dougherty do that?’ he had asked.

Kristen had replied with excuses that had set alarm bells ringing in Ed’s head. Painfully familiar alarm bells: ‘he was upset’, ‘he didn’t mean to’, ‘said some things I shouldn’t have’, etc.  
None of them made any sense.  
It was wrong.  
What Dougherty had done to Kristen was wrong and Ed had said so.

‘Mr. Nygma, it is none of your concern', Kristen had retorted, 'Now, I-I need to get started on these files, so...’

That had been the end of the conversation but not the end of the battle as far as Ed had been concerned.  
That was why after lunch he had confronted Dougherty openly.  
Man to man.

Once he had pried him away from his sycophantic lackeys, Ed had confronted him with a riddle: ‘I can start a war or end one. I can give you the strength of heroes or leave you powerless. I might be snared with a glance, but no force can compel me to stay. What am I?’

It was a simple test which Dougherty had failed.  
He hadn’t even taken time to consider what the answer might be before blithely admitting his ignorance!  
Ed wasn’t surprised Dougherty didn’t know the answer.  
How could he?!

‘Love’, Ed had said sternly, ‘Miss Kringle has given hers to you. And in return, you hurt her. I saw the bruises’.

‘And?’

‘And you cannot do that! The next time you do that, I'll-‘

‘Whoa! Calm down’, Dougherty had interjected, ‘You'll give yourself a girly fit. Have you ever been with a woman?’

The question had disarmed Ed because he had numerous answers for it ranging from the obvious one ‘no’ which he was not willing to admit to the deflective ‘what has that got to do with anything?’  
Dougherty hadn’t waited for an answer, simply deciding that Ed’s silence was answer enough.  
And grounds for a lecture.

‘Didn't think so’, Dougherty had opined smugly, ‘They need a firm hand. That goes double for Kringle. Girl's got a tongue’.

Before Ed could recover, Dougherty had hit him with another question: ‘What are you gonna do?’  
Ed had had no answer for that one.

Ed walked to his kitchen sink and ran the water, feeling shame and anger crawl up his spine like angry, competing spiders.  
Maybe Ed couldn’t do anything but perhaps Oswald could-  
Ed physically shook his head, dispelling the emerging idea.  
No. It wasn’t right to get Oswald involved.  
This was Ed’s problem.   
He would fix things.  
He sighed heavily as he splashed water onto his face, pretending he could feel the stress of the day washing away.  
Somehow.

He decided to place the Dougherty dilemma on the back burner for now. Sometimes if he ignored a problem in favour of other things, much like a computer prioritising what programs to run or completing an update in the background, his brain would produce a viable solution.  
Besides, he had a job to do that night and had to be at his best.

He retrieved the package from the floor where he had discarded it in his bad temper and sat on his couch to open it.  
Despite the brown paper wrapping, he knew who it was from thanks to the umbrella symbol stamped in the corner.  
He tore off the packaging and opened the white box.  
His jaw dropped at the contents.  
A bright green suit was folded neatly inside. A pair of leather gloves lined with velvet were nestled on top along with a neat black bowler hat. Ed picked up the hat and turned it in his hands. He smiled when he saw it glisten in the light.  
Oswald’s tailors had followed his designs perfectly!  
They had even got the dark purple domino mask correct.  
But the materials used to create Ed’s costume were of much better quality than Ed had expected. He hoped it hadn’t cost Oswald too much to create.  
He decided to use them as encouragement. If Oswald had spent so much money on him, the least Ed could do was return the investment.  
A piece of paper fell out of the hat and Ed opened it.  
It read:

_Ed,_   
_Change of plan._   
_Mother took a bit of a turn today and I don’t want to risk her going out._   
_I hope you won’t mind singing for her personally at her apartment tonight instead._

_I also hope the costume fits._   
_Mother’s hoping to see you wear it tonight._   
_Take a look in the jacket pocket._   
_I hope it’s enough to cover whatever earnings you may have made at the Lounge tonight._

_Nobody will question where you were. If they do, send them to me._

_Oswald_   
_P.S You were right about the green._   
_P.P.S You still have to convince me about the hat._

 

‘Wonderful! Wonderful!’ Gertrud gushed, clapping her hands as Ed finished the song on a drawn-out note, ‘Bravo!’

Oswald added a few jaunty extra notes to the climax before also finishing with a final flourish on the piano.  
He flashed Ed a thumbs up which Ed returned.  
All traces of Gertrud’s initial disappointment at missing her trip to the Lounge seemed to have been well and truly banished thanks to Ed and Oswald’s joint improvisation.

When Ed had arrived he had been surprised to find Oswald in a tuxedo and a disco ball rotating slowly on the apartment ceiling, casting twinkling lights on the walls.  
Gertrud had been sitting on the couch, a glass of champagne in her hand, dressed in a bright blue shawl and wearing diamond earrings. Despite her pallid skin tone and the dark bags under her eyes, her smile at Ed had lit up her face, making her appear ten years younger. She reminded Ed of an Eastern European dowager. When he had said so, Gertrud had laughed and muttered something in an uncharacteristic sardonic tone. He thought he had caught the word ‘bourgeoise’ but before he could explore further, Oswald had asked for Gertrud’s birthday song request.  
It was odd for Ed to see Oswald so eager to please. It was almost like he was a child again, eager to please his mother.  
It was…endearing to see.  
Ed had also found Gertrud’s song choice endearing even if Oswald had experienced a momentary panic over it. He had anticipated her choosing a song that they had a recording of, not a bedtime lullaby.It was not a well-known song but it was obviously very close to Gertrud’s heart. Thankfully _‘My Mother Looks Over Me’_ was also a short song and Ed had easily learnt it after a few, hasty practice runs with Oswald accompanying him on the piano.  
Gertrud had watched the whole performance enraptured, eyes flicking between Ed and Oswald as if she couldn’t decide who to watch.  
Judging from Gertrud’s reaction their efforts were very much appreciated.  
She rose slowly from the couch and encased Oswald in a hug, smothering him with light kisses while he stood there helpless (though not looking displeased at the attention) before embracing Ed (thankfully without kisses).

As Ed helped her back onto the couch, Gertrud smiled secretly to herself.  
Her son was in love. He hadn’t taken his eyes off Edward the whole time he had been singing.  
Such a fine young man Edward was.  
Perfect for her Oswald.  
As Edward placed a freshly cut slice of birthday cake in front of her on fine china, she cleared her throat, her mind made up.  
If these silly boys hadn’t figured it out yet, she would give them a gentle nudge.

 

‘Oswald, can you please fetch me a cup of tea?’ Gertrud asked, ‘Cake goes best with tea’.

‘Absolutely’, Oswald replied and hastened to the kitchen to fulfil his mother’s request.

Once Oswald had gone into the kitchen, Ed was surprised to feel Gertrud take his hand in hers. She held a finger up to her lips. Ed nodded to show he understood this was a private conversation.

‘You gave me such nice gift’, Gertrud whispered, ‘In return, I want to give you some advice’.

‘Of course’, Ed replied, keeping his voice similarly low.

‘When you find love, true love, like in the stories, the love that fills you up yet when you are not with the person you feel as if you are starving, do not wait. Run. Run to it. Hold it tight in your arms and keep it warm. Keep it safe because it is the most precious thing in this world. Do you understand?’

‘I think so’, Ed nodded, noting how tightly Gertrud was holding his hand and how intently she was looking at him.  
It was as if she was trying to telepathically imprint the words into his brain.  
Once she knew Ed had absorbed her advice, Getrud let go.

‘What is wrong?’ she asked, noting Ed’s coloured cheeks.

‘Just a bit embarrassed that how I feel is that obvious’, Ed said, rubbing the back of his neck.  
Had Oswald noticed he had a crush on someone and asked his mother to intervene?  
Who else had noticed?!

‘Don’t worry’, Gertrud chuckled, patting his knee companionably, ‘I have just had many years to recognise the signs. I wish you happiness. Both of you’.

‘Thank you Gertrud’.

‘You are welcome. Ah! Here is the tea!’

‘Will you be joining us Ed?’ Oswald asked, placing a tray with a teapot and cups on it down.

‘No thank you. I should be getting home. It was good to see you again’.

‘Goodnight Edward’, Gertrud said, taking a sip of tea, ‘Don’t be stranger’.

Oswald walked Ed to the door and as he opened it, felt Ed press something into his hand.  
Oswald saw it was the $200 fee he had hidden inside the pocket of Ed’s costume as well as the additional $200 sweetener Oswald had given Ed for coming to his mother’s apartment instead of the Lounge when he had arrived that night.

‘That’s not a very sound business practice’, Oswald chided, ‘Working for free’.

‘Maybe not but that’s not my job Mr Manager’, Ed smiled, ‘Besides I kept the coupons so it’s not like I’m empty handed’.

Oswald was about to argue but seeing the determination on Ed’s face, tucked the bills away in his pocket. He would find a way to sneak it into Ed’s wages somehow.

‘Take this too’.

‘What is it?’ Oswald asked, examining the video tape that Ed had just handed him.

‘You’ll see’, Ed said and turning on his heel to leave, added, ‘Something I whipped up earlier tonight. But, uh, if I were you, I would watch it alone’.

Oswald was so intrigued by Ed’s cryptic warning that, as soon as he had helped his mother to sit on the couch in front of her usual soap operas, he went straight to the spare bedroom to watch the tape.  
For security’s sake he locked the door. Even though he knew his mother would always knock if she wanted to enter and it was unlikely she was going to come looking for him when her stories were on, he did not want her walking in on something he may find hard to explain.  
From Ed’s demeanour he had a pretty good idea of what was on the video.

Ed had selected a piece of music without lyrics for the video. Oswald was grateful. It was easier to focus on what Ed was doing.  
He was standing in his apartment, one leg looped around the practice pole and the other resting on it. He was not using his hands to hold on: one was draped over his bent leg and the other was resting on top of his hat.  
As the beat of the music intensified, Ed swung around the pole and Oswald noted with pride that Ed had taken his advice about using gravity to his advantage. Using the technique, Ed did a full 360 degrees and leapt off the pole, landing effortlessly and kicking off his shoes. As Ed did a pirouette, he undid his tie seamlessly and threw it away. Throwing his arms wide, he arched his back and cast off the jacket to join the discarded tie.   
Oswald watched Ed’s flawless movements, enraptured. He watched hungrily as Ed began to unbutton his shirt and as one button followed the other, Oswald felt his hand drifting to his fly.  
Part of him knew he shouldn’t. That Ed had given him this tape for review, not as something for personal pleasure but Oswald couldn’t help it.  
The way Ed was looking at him as he undressed was too much to resist.  
He began to imagine how Ed would look up at him if they were together.  
Oswald gave a shaky gasp as he realised he had never had that kind of fantasy before. He had never felt about anyone like this.  
As Ed’s fingers drifted to his fly, Oswald reached into his boxers.  
He swallowed hard, his mouth dry as he took hold of his painfully erect member and began to stroke. He stroked lightly, almost tentatively, unsure of how long it would take him to climax with a visual aid.  
As Ed stepped out of his trousers lying at his slim ankles, Oswald had a misgiving it wouldn’t be very long.  
Ed rotated his hips, now dressed only in his hat, mask and briefs and Oswald used his thumb against the head of his member, swirling slowly but firmly, relishing the strange wet sensation of his own presume on his skin.  
Ed raised an eyebrow coquettishly and Oswald’s breath hitched as he watched Ed lower his hat so it covered his crotch.  
With a movement that reminded Oswald of a whipcrack, Ed tore his briefs off in one swift movement. He held them up, ensuring the viewer got a good look before letting them fall.  
Oswald breathed heavily as Ed removed one hand from his hat and held it behind his head.  
Then removed the other.  
The hat stayed where it was, covering his crotch.  
But that meant Ed’s cock was-

‘Oh my God!' Oswald whispered in perverse delight as Ed rotated his hips again, causing the hat to sway left to right.

Oswald sped up his ministrations as Ed sped up his pelvic thrusts. He ran his fingers through his hair as he watched Ed enjoy his nakedness, the confidence intoxicating.  
Oswald imagined how the cool air felt against that soft skin. How that skin would feel against his, rubbing and warm and-

Suddenly, Ed turned on the spot and cast the hat away, unveiling himself fully for the first time.  
He was even bigger than Oswald had imagined! 

Oswald came instantly at the sight, shaking as he bit his lip, stifling any unguarded noise in case he disturbed his mother.  
He rode out his orgasm quietly, mouth silently screaming at the sheer _pleasure_ electrifying his body.

On the tape, Ed came out of his final pose and removed his mask.  
Oswald felt a rush of warmth at how happy Ed looked as he approached the camera.  
Even though he knew Ed couldn’t see him, Oswald couldn’t help but put his legs together, hands hiding his leaking, softening member.

‘Thank you for giving me a chance to do this Oswald’, the image of Ed said, ‘I hope that was okay. Looking forward to working with you properly’.

Oswald watched Ed reach forward and the tape went black, the recording concluded.  
Oswald felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise.  
What was he doing?  
Ed was his employee. Not his personal eye candy.  
What he had just done was wrong.  
A violation of trust.  
As he hastily cleaned himself, he swore it would not (could not) happen again.  
He had to keep this relationship professional.  
If he didn’t, he risked losing Ed altogether.

 

As Ed headed home, he decided to drive past Kristen’s apartment.  
Just to check that everything seemed quiet and to help steel his resolve.   
Remind himself who this whole thing was for.  
He didn’t know what he had been expecting to find but he was displeased to find Dougherty trying to stagger up the steps of her apartment building while trying to dispose of a half empty bottle of beer.  
He slammed on his brakes and his knuckles whitened as he gripped the steering wheel as his brain conjured up numerous horrible potential futures if Dougherty made it inside.  
This had to stop now.  
It was like Gertrud had said: Ed had to keep Kristen safe!

‘Stop right there buster!’ Ed yelled, flinging his car door open. 

‘Riddle Man?’ Dougherty slurred in snide disbelief, ‘What the hell are you doing creeping around here? And what are you _wearing?’_

‘You need to leave Miss Kringle alone’, Ed said sternly, ‘I'm not gonna let you hurt her. Ever again. I think you need to leave Gotham... tonight’.

Ed bristled as Dougherty gave a cruel chuckle.

‘I get it now: you got a thing for my girl!’ 

Ed stood still, the rage white hot in his veins.   
How dare the cretin say something so personal so openly!  
What if Kristen heard the commotion and came outside?!

‘That's too funny!’ Dougherty laughed, pretending to wipe away a mirthful tear, ‘Don't take this personal’.

Ed cried out as Dougherty suddenly punched him in the gut. Crumpling onto his knees and fighting the urge to vomit as a red haze filled his eyes, he heard Dougherty mocking him as he grabbed him.  
No! He was going to ruin his suit!  
He was going to hurt Kristen!

‘You want some more? Upsy-daisy-‘

Dougherty’s jeering was cut short as Ed shoved the knife into his stomach.  
Ed felt heat spreading over his bare hand and the knife stick inside Dougherty’s soft innards. He fought the savage urge to twist it.  
He stabbed Dougherty again almost as a reflex action.  
Dougherty mouthed something as he felt but Ed didn’t hear it.  
He tried to remember where the knife had come from.  
He stared at it, frozen in place.  
There was white icing on it. Cake icing?  
Had he taken it from Gertrud’s apartment?  
Why?  
Had-had he somehow known it would end this way?  
That-that he would kill-

Ed heard the words ‘Oh dear’ over and over spilling from his mouth in a mantra of madness.  
He laughed at how stupid the words sounded as a train clacked by overhead.  
And how familiar.  
His head swam as his surroundings changed.  
The lino of his kitchen, the smashed dinner plates, his father lying in the corner-

‘Oh, dear’, Ed repeated, overwhelmed as he reached for his phone with a shaking, bloodstained hand, ‘Oh, no…’

 

‘If there’s ever anything I can do for-‘ Ed began but Oswald held up a hand.

‘Friends don’t owe friends silly’, he said, slamming the limo trunk closed, Dougherty’s corpse safely ensconced inside, ‘Leave this to me. People might ask questions though about where he went’.

‘Don’t worry about that side of things’, Ed said, placing the bloodied knife into a plastic sandwich bag, ‘I already know what to do’.

He handed the evidence to Oswald who took it without hesitation.  
Ed was grateful for the lack of questions.  
He hadn’t known where else to turn for help disposing of Dougherty’s body.  
Oswald hadn’t even questioned it, simply arrived within minutes of Ed pleading with him over the phone for help and got to work.

‘Sorry I interrupted your mother’s birthday’, Ed said sadly.

‘It’s alright’, Oswald said easily, ‘When I left, she had dozed off. Didn’t even notice me leave. By the way, I-I watched your tape’.

‘What did you think?’ Ed asked eagerly.

‘I think we’re going to have a very lucky audience in tomorrow for ladies’ night’, Oswald said.

‘Will you be there?’ Ed asked.

‘I wouldn’t miss it’, Oswald promised.

 

Oswald locked the apartment door behind him quietly but was surprised to find his mother still on the couch where he had left her.

‘I’m back Mother’, he said, approaching her sleeping form, ‘Sorry I had to leave but something came up. I’m sorry to wake you but you should really be in bed you….’

He trailed off as he realised his mother hadn’t moved.  
He reached for her hand, heart beginning to pound.

‘Mother?’

There was no answer.

 

An unfamiliar face greeted Ed when he knocked on the GCPD records office door the next morning.

‘Oh! Dr Thompkins, I…I’m looking for Miss Kringle?’

‘It’s-it’s not a good time Ed’, Lee Thompkins said, casting a glance over her shoulder.

‘Is everything alright?’ Ed asked, trying to peer inside.

‘It’s fine Lee!’ Kristen’s voice emanated from the office, ‘May as well let him in. The whole station’ll know soon enough anyway!’

‘Kristen, it’s okay-‘ Lee said but Kristen interjected.

‘I got a letter from Officer Dougherty’, Kristen said to Ed as he entered, ‘He left town’.

She cleared her throat and began to read from a card officiously.

‘Don't wait around for me. Go have some fun, and maybe I'll give you a call when I get back, blah, blah, blah. Couldn't even tell me to my face! I mean, why do I keep picking creeps?!’

‘Sometimes with men, you need to read between the lines’, Ed said gently.

‘Sometimes with men, you need a drink’, Kristen said curtly, shoving the note into her drawer.

Ed and Lee shared a concerned look. Ed cleared his throat.

‘Well, if that’s what you want, what about the ‘Iceberg Lounge’?’ Ed asked.

‘Ooh, I’ve heard of that place’, Lee said, obviously grateful for a change in subject, ‘It’s supposed to be ‘the place to be’’.

‘Isn’t that a strip club?’ Kristen asked skeptically.

‘No! No’, Ed interjected, ‘It’s more of a burlesque club. Or so I hear’.

‘How did you know about a burlesque club?’ Kristen asked Ed teasingly, arms crossed.

‘Well, I-I don’t!’ Ed replied, flustered, ‘It’s just that…’

He trailed off and reached inside his jacket.   
He held out the crisp envelope to Kristen who took it.  
She and Lee both examined the contents: a booklet of pale blue watermarked coupons. Kristen flicked through it and Ed noted her impressed nod as she surveyed the bargains on offer for the Lounge.

‘I won these in a contest but I’m not a nightclub-y person so I…I thought you might like them’.

‘There are some really generous deals here’, Kristen said, putting the coupons back in the envelope, ‘Are you sure Mr Nygma?’

Ed nodded eagerly.

‘I think it’s a great idea’, Lee agreed, ‘A night out is just what you need’.

Kristen held the envelope close to her chest and her brow furrowed determinedly. 

‘You’re right! I don’t need Tom to have fun!’ Kristen said confidently, ‘Lee, we’re going shopping! If I’m going out tonight, I’m doing it in style!’

‘Tonight?’ Ed and Lee asked in unison.

‘Why wait?!’ Kristen cried, grabbing her coat, ‘Tom Dougherty didn’t!’

Lee shrugged at Ed and went to get her own coat.  
As Kristen finished fastening her buttons, she placed a hand on Ed’s shoulder.

‘Thank you for the gift Mr Nygma’, she smiled, ‘It won’t go to waste’.

Ed waited until Kristen had left before punching the air in triumph.  
Struck by a desire to see his handiwork, he opened the drawer and smiled down at the card from ‘Dougherty’.  
He was particularly proud that he had managed to copy Dougherty’s syntax perfectly even on such short notice. He had slipped it beneath Kristen’s apartment door the previous night when Oswald had left him to dump Dougherty’s body.   
The first letter of each sentence when read downwards spelt ‘NYGMA’.

‘Read between the lines’, Ed smirked to himself before closing the drawer once more.

 

‘It’s a shame your sister couldn’t join us’, Lee said.

She and Kristen were sitting in the front row in the Iceberg Lounge, enjoying the ambience and pleasant, stylish surroundings. It was crowded and as popular as they had both expected but not to such an extent that they couldn’t hear each other. 

‘She’s run ragged at the records office with this big election’, Kristen shrugged but grinned as she flashed the wad of coupons, ‘Looks like I’ll just have to come back with her another time’.

Lee smiled at Kristen’s light heartedness. She was glad to see her having fun after being so downcast. 

‘Wow! How many did Ed win?’ Lee laughed, idly twirling her cocktail’s umbrella.

‘It was sweet of him to give them all to me’, Kristen said, placing them carefully back inside her purse.

‘You know’, Lee said, ‘Ed’s kind of sweet once you get to know him’.

‘It’d be easier to get to know him if he wasn’t driving me crazy half the time’, Kristen replied, looking down at her own brightly coloured drink, ‘I know he means well and he’s trying to be nice but…’

‘But?’

‘If he wants to ask me out on a date why doesn’t he just ask? Why all the riddles and reading between the lines? He’s just gets in my way. He gets in his _own_ way’.

‘Why does he have to be the one who asks? If he’s getting in his own way, maybe somebody could give him a hand?’

Kristen looked thoughtful then smiled sardonically.

‘Since when did you become a psychiatrist?’ 

‘I’m a woman of many talents’, Lee laughed offering her glass.

Kristen clinked it in a toast as the lights in the Lounge darkened.

‘What’s happening?’ he asked.

‘It’s on the menus’, Lee explained, tapping the menu on the table in front of them with a finger, ‘Before the evening entertainment starts, we get introduced to who’ll be performing. It’s like an exhibition’.

The stage lit up as various colourfully dressed performers began to stride down the catwalk, winking and interacting with audience members.

‘That’s different’, Kristen remarked as a blonde woman in what appeared to be a magician’s assistant outfit blew her a kiss as she walked past.

‘Apparently it’s also to allow customers to decide if they want a private session’, Lee said.

‘A private session?’

‘You got a coupon for that?’ Lee asked with a suggestive wink and click of the tongue.

‘Lee!’ Kristen laughed, aghast, ‘You’re just-‘

She stopped talking as she realised one of the performers had halted in front of her.  
The performer was tall and thin as he knelt down to her eye level, his soft green suit shining in the light.   
Half of his face was hidden by a domino mask as he smiled at her.

Kristen, nervous but flattered by the attention, returned the smile.  
The dancer reached for his buttonhole and removed the red rose.  
He smelt it once and held it out to her, head bowed.  
Kristen was reminded of a prince in a fairytale or one of the dashing rogues she enjoyed from pulpy novels.  
She looked at Lee, half suspecting she had had a hand in setting this up but Lee’s open mouthed expression of surprise and delight put paid to the theory.  
Butterflies crowding into her stomach, Kristen took the rose and smiled as she saw it was edged with dots of silver. They caught the light and shone in rainbow colours.  
She was embarrassed to feel the heat rising to her cheeks as the dancer looked at her expectantly with warm, brown eyes.

‘Thank you’, Kristen giggled, heart racing as she brushed a stray hair behind her ear.

The dancer simply bowed and, turning on his heel, walked away. He ignored every other person in the crowd as he made his way towards the curtain leading backstage.  
He pulled back the curtain and walked inside.  
But not without a backward glance and a tip of his hat to Kristen.

 

Ed leant his back against the wall and fanned himself with his bowler hat.   
He laughed giddily as he pulled his mask off.

‘I did it! I actually did it!’ he excitedly whispered to himself, ‘She looked so happy! Wait until Oswald-‘

He stopped.   
He hadn’t seen Oswald in the crowd.  
The slight jab of annoyance that Oswald had missed his first public appearance was swiftly drowned by a rising feeling of unease in Ed’s gut.  
Had something happened?

 

‘Not bad for your first try’, Butch commented without looking up at the approaching Ed, ‘But you did see the dozens of other people in the audience right? Not just that chick in the front row?’

‘Where’s Penguin?’ Ed asked.

Butch took a bite of his sandwich, still absorbed in the ledger he was examining.  
Ed had to fight the urge to slam the ledger shut over the plate as Butch put the sandwich back down.

‘Not here’, Butch said, ‘Come on, get back in there, we got a full house tonight and-‘

Ed took off towards the direction of the changing rooms. He hastily apologised to Tabitha and Barbara as he nearly collided with them as they emerged.

‘Hey! Your shift’s not over!’ Butch yelled after Ed, ‘A stripper’s supposed to strip you know?! Who cares where Penguin is?! He’s a big boy!’

Seeing his pleas were having no effect, he settled back into his chair. Barbara perched on the reception desk as Tabitha leant against it.

‘Why’s the beanpole looking for Penguin?’ Tabitha asked, eyes narrowing.

Before Butch could answer her, Ed flew past them, his bag containing his civilian clothes clung over his arm.   
Without acknowledging them, he ran out of the Lounge.

‘Is there something going on between those two?’ Barbara asked, ‘’Cause neither of them were here last night’.

‘What? No!’ Butch scoffed through another mouthful of sandwich, ‘That’s crazy. Penguin’s always talkin’ about not ‘fraternisin’’ with employees’.

‘Probably to cover his own ass’, Barbara said as her eyes lit up, ‘Hey! You think they were-‘

‘Please don’t’, Butch begged, ‘I’m eatin’’.

Barbara stuck her tongue out and winked, helping herself to a French fry from Butch’s plate.  
Tabitha stood up abruptly and grabbed her leather jacket from the cloakroom.

‘Where are you going Tabby?’ Butch asked.

‘We’re running out of Leonards and Theo’s running out of patience’, Tabitha replied, doing up the zipper, ‘Time to see where Penguin spending his nights’.

‘Is anybody actually plannin’ on working tonight?’ Butch cried despairingly as Tabitha ran out of the entrance after Ed.

‘Get me some ketchup for these and I’ll see what I can do’, Barbara offered, holding out another French fry expectantly.

 

Ed opened his apartment door a lot more slowly than he had the previous day.  
The lock had been broken and the room was dark as he took a step inside. He strained his ears and eyes trying to detect if an intruder was in the apartment.  
He didn’t have to look long before he detected an all too familiar silhouette sitting beside the window.

‘Oswald, is that you?’ he asked cautiously. 

‘Yes’, came the strangely emotionless response, ‘Sorry about your door. Just give me a moment. I just…I just didn’t know where else to go. I can’t go back to her apartment’.

‘Why? What’s wrong?’ Ed asked, though he already knew the answer.

The first place Ed had gone after leaving the Lounge had been Oswald’s mother’s building only to receive no answer when he knocked on the apartment door.  
Then he had checked Gotham General only to be told there was no Oswald Cobblepot or Gertrud Kapelput on the wards.  
Afterwards he had decided to go home, thinking he had been overreacting.  
He hated being wrong.  
Ed flicked on the table lamp to find Oswald sitting in his tuxedo from the previous night. His hair was a mess and his eyes were red as he blinked to cope with the improved light.  
Oswald took a long swig from a bottle in his hand.

‘My mother is dead’, Oswald said numbly.

‘Oh my God’, Ed sighed, ‘When?’

‘Last night…when I wasn’t there. I came back and I-I found her just…sleeping’.

‘I’m so sorry’.

‘Don’t be’, Oswald said in a tone that stank of deliberate callousness, ‘They said she died in her sleep. Never felt a thing’.

‘How much have you had to drink?’ 

‘What the Hell does it _matter?!’_ Oswald snapped, slamming the bottom of the bottle onto the tabletop, ‘The Lounge was for her and she never even got to see it! I wanted to make her proud. Just _once!_ But now she’s gone and she’s never coming back!’

'Oswald’, Ed said gently, ‘Your mother loved you and she was proud of you’.

'How do you know?!’ Oswald yelled, ‘You barely even knew her!’

There was a ringing silence.  
Ed sighed.

‘I know because…’

‘Because what?!’ Oswald demanded.

Ed inhaled and exhaled slowly then walked to the sink. He picked up a clean dishcloth and unbuttoned his shirt.  
Oswald looked perplexed as he watched Ed begin to rub harshly at his now exposed chest.  
Despite an urge to look away, Ed kept his eyes on Oswald as he continued to rub at his skin, ignoring the rough sensation of friction.  
He was rewarded with Oswald’s eyes widening at what he gradually unveiled beneath the concealer he carefully applied each day.  
Once Ed had finished rubbing, he dropped the now makeup stained dishtowel onto the floor and walked back over to Oswald where the light was better.

'Because _my_ parents weren’t proud of me’, Ed said, gesturing to himself ruefully.

Oswald made a compulsive gesture as if he was going to touch one of the numerous and varied scars that bedecked Ed’s chest but seemed to think better of it, his fingers curling into a fist as he returned it to his side.

'Ed, I’m sorry’, Oswald said in a choked voice, eyes on the floor, ‘I’m just all messed up. I can’t think straight, I haven’t slept, I feel sick and I’m saying things that…I’m sorry’.

'Don't be’, Ed said, placing a conciliatory hand on Oswald’s shoulder, ‘The scars don't hurt anymore’.

Oswald sniffed conspicuously but nodded. He seemed unable to look at Ed.

‘One day this won't hurt either', Ed continued as he pointed to Oswald's chest, 'I promise'.

Oswald gave a hoarse, pained cry and finally looked at Ed. 

'I'm sorry about this too', Oswald said in a shaky voice.

Ed caught a glimpse of Oswald's watery eyes and agonised face just before he was pulled into a kiss.  
Ed’s eyes widened at the light feeling of Oswald’s lips on his.  
He barely had time to recognise what had happened before Oswald abruptly broke away, his eyes unfocused and his cheeks shiny with the streaks of fallen tears.  
Ed, taken aback but totally unaware of how to react, tried to make a neutral observation, unsure of how Oswald would take anything else in his compromised state.

‘Oswald, you look-‘

Oswald’s eyes rolled back in his head and Ed gasped as Oswald suddenly became dead weight in his arms. His head lolled back as Ed lowered him onto the couch and pried the alcohol from his loosening fingers.

‘Tired’, Ed sighed, grimacing as he gave the bottle an experimental sniff.

He placed it on the coffee table and reached for the decorative blanket over the back of the couch.   
Oswald had instinctively curled into a foetal position and was snoring quietly.  
Ed numbly layered the blanket over Oswald’s prone form and as he looked down at his sleeping employer, he reflected on Gertrud’s advice.  
He thought it had been meant for him and Kristen but now, he wasn’t so sure.

Maybe Kristen wasn’t the only one who had to do more reading between the lines.

‘Oh dear’, Ed said, as he turned out the lights.


	6. Old Wounds and New

Oswald’s mouth tasted like an unwholesome mixture of cotton balls and stale beer as he yawned.  
Blinking blearily, he stirred, trying to get his bearings. They were familiar but not what he expected to see.  
It wasn’t his mother’s-  
The thought of her was akin to a bullet to the chest and he gasped as the sorrow sank all the way down to his stomach. Sitting up slowly, he held his skull and winced as his brain pulsed in protest at the exertion. He tried to get his unfocused thoughts into order to distract himself.  
His mother was dead.  
He had had too much to drink.  
He hadn’t wanted to go back to the empty apartment.  
He had gotten a cab somewhere. Here.  
Ed’s apartment.  
Ed hadn’t been home but Oswald had waited and when Ed had come in, Oswald had-

Oswald leapt up, ignoring his treacherous leg as it threatened to give way beneath him and pelted for Ed’s bathroom. He had barely locked the door behind him before his stomach roiled and he vomited into the toilet, grasping the sides for dear life.  
He gritted his eyes shut as he retched, tears pooling beneath the lids.  
How could he be so stupid?!  
What would Ed think of him?!  
Finally, he felt the ache in his stomach beginning to subside: eclipsed by a hollow emptiness.  
Reaching up, Oswald used the back of his sleeve to wipe the tears from his face without thinking and cursed when he saw the black streaks of his makeup the gesture left on the material.

That had been his first kiss.  
Drunken, impulsive and messy.  
His mother had always told him it should have been special.  
But he had ruined it.  
What if it had been Ed’s first kiss too?! Did it even count if one of the participants was drunk?!  
Oswald swallowed to try and get rid of the building lump in his throat that had nothing to do with his stomach.  
He had never felt the desire to kiss anyone before.  
Kissing, dating and sex were a trinity of distractions that stopped you from seeing the big picture. Every time his mother had mentioned thoughts of grandchildren (or ‘little Cobblepots’), Oswald had changed the subject.  
Fatherhood and the activity necessary to acquire the position were both distinctly unappealing to him.  
Even when he had first joined the criminal underworld, he hadn’t joined in with the usual bawdy jokes or casual flirting that his ‘co-workers’ had enjoyed. It always seemed so crude: practically immature. This of course had caused them to turn their jokes on him, making assumptions about his sexuality due to his lack of interest in scantily clad women.  
Oswald had endured it.  
Mainly because he knew they were totally wrong.  
Man. Woman.  
It didn’t matter who was undressing on some glittering stage or how much glistening flesh was exposed beneath stagelights.  
Oswald had no interest in any of it.

Until he had seen Ed dance that first night.

He had been intrigued by his movements but only from a professional point of view: Ed’s style had been fresh enough to make it a worthwhile investment.  
But then the curtain had dropped and Oswald had seen where all that potential was hidden: inside a bookish looking, awkward man who (unlike every other candidate) had answered every question Oswald had asked correctly and with genuine enthusiasm.  
Working at the Lounge wasn’t about the money for Ed. It was about becoming someone else. Someone stronger who people could admire.  
Oswald had loved that.  
Had seen himself in it.

Ed had continued to surprise him with his intelligence, drive to improve and above all his kindness.  
In a town like Gotham and in a business like Oswald’s, such altruism was hard to find.  
What else would drive a man to kill someone who had threatened to harm one of his work colleagues? Ed had dirtied his hands, his soul, for the sake of someone in his office he said he barely knew. And before that he had sang for Oswald’s mother on her birthday. Lied to her to maintain Oswald’s pretence of a law abiding life without question.   
When Oswald was around Ed, things were different.  
Oswald felt different.  
He actually felt happy.  
Like he could let his guard down and be himself for a change.

And now thanks to one stupid, drunken mistake, Oswald had ruined everything.

Oswald spat a final gobbet of sour bile into the bowl and flushed.  
He could feel his shirt sticking to his clammy back and shuddered at the unpleasant sensation.  
But if this was where that kind of desire led how could anyone want any part of it?

‘Because of how I feel when he smiles at me’, he answered aloud, tongue feeing thick in his grimy mouth, ‘Because I love him’.

The words felt odd to say. He supposed coming from a criminal like him they were tainted in some way. Especially with the taste of bile coating his tongue.  
But then why did admitting the truth feel so good?  
Rising slowly, Oswald steadied himself using the sink and caught sight of his reflection.  
A waxen, dead eyed individual in dishevelled clothes stared accusingly back at him with condemnation.  
Oswald ran the taps and splashed some water into his face. He flinched at the cold and his head swam as it ached.  
Reaching for a bottle of mouthwash, he took a swig and spat it out after a thorough rinsing.  
There was nothing much else he could do about his lacklustre appearance.  
And even less about that damn kiss.  
Oswald stared at the door. He could hear Ed moving around outside. Cooking breakfast by the sounds of pots and pans.  
Oswald steeled himself for the inevitable uncomfortable conversation about the previous night waiting on the other side as he reached for the door handle.

Ed heard the toilet flush and nodded, acknowledging that Oswald’s body must have finally finished purging itself of the copious amounts of alcohol it had ingested the night before.  
He spooned the warm scrambled eggs onto a waiting plate beside two rashers of bacon.  
Ed had already eaten his own breakfast: as a forensics scientist a strong stomach was a necessity so Ed had not been deterred by the descriptive noises emanating from his bathroom. Besides, Ed couldn’t afford to wait for Oswald to finish his ‘session’ before preparing to leave for work at the GCPD.

As Ed poured a generous cup of black coffee into a waiting cup, Oswald emerged.  
Ed gave him time to make it to the kitchen table before speaking.

‘Boxes without hinges, key or lid yet inside a golden treasure’s hid’, Ed pronounced, ‘What am I?’

Oswald held his head in his hands and managed a shrug.  
Ed placed the plate of eggs and bacon in front of Oswald as a visual answer to his riddle. Looking at Oswald’s complexion, he should have known better than to expect an answer.  
Oswald looked down at the breakfast with an odd look on his face: pinched, jaw tight.  
Ed could see Oswald trying to remember the events of the previous night. The worry in his red rimmed eyes was obvious.  
Ed felt somewhat deflated to see it.  
Didn’t Oswald know Ed wasn’t going to make a big deal out of things?  
People did all kinds of things when they were drunk. The kiss the night before had simply been the only way Oswald’s compromised brain could think of to communicate both gratitude and a desire for companionship in one move.  
Ed had already figured that out last night while he had lying awake in bed.  
Much as Ed had liked Gertrud, her presumption that Oswald had feelings for him were wrong. In Ed’s experience from the GCPD, it was debatable that a crime boss could afford to love anyone at all and Oswald had said himself he had no interest in dating. Last night had been a projection of impulse, nothing more. Ed knew about such things personally and wasn’t about to blame someone else for succumbing to them.  
Either way, Ed knew Oswald didn’t need something else to beat himself up over, not when he already blamed himself for not being there for his mother’s passing.  
Ed placed the cup of coffee beside the plate.  
Oswald looked at it and grimaced at the smell.

‘Trust me, you need it’, Ed said, ‘And you also need to eat. Protein is the best cure for a hangover. Though these help too’.

He offered Oswald two capsules of Dramamine which Oswald accepted gratefully as he picked up a fork.  
Once he was satisfied Oswald was eating (and with great enthusiasm), Ed went to retrieve his coat. As he passed the calendar on his fridge, he noted the time of his appointment that afternoon.

‘What happened last night?’ Oswald croaked.

Ed continued to button up his coat, keeping his demeanour light.

‘I came home to find my lock broken and you sitting in here in the dark drunk. You told me the sad news and then fell asleep on my couch’.

‘I…see’.

‘Yep’, Ed continued, putting on his gloves, ‘Didn’t think it was a good idea to move you so I put a blanket over you and turned in for the night’.

Oswald gave a hoarse moan and Ed’s brow furrowed sympathetically at the diminished mob boss. It was jarring to see the confident Oswald so low and embarrassed.  
The sight convinced Ed he had made the right choice by pretending the kiss never happened.

‘I’m sorry for…you seeing me like that’, Oswald groaned, ‘I’m not usually like that’.

‘Oswald, there’s no need to apologise’, Ed smiled gently, ‘You’re having a bad time. Friends stick by each other during bad times. You helped me with Dougherty didn’t you?’

Oswald gave a brief nod and gritted his eyes shut as the innocuous movement hurt his head.

‘Listen’, Ed said, sensing Oswald was not yet in any condition to move, ‘I-uh-I’m gonna be gone all day so just when you’re…all set, just lock up after yourself okay? You can even have a shower if you like. Think you already found the bathroom’.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

Oswald stared at him searchingly but eventually managed a genuine albeit small, watery smile.

‘Thank you Ed. For everything’.

‘Don’t mention it’, Ed said, waving a hand as he offered Oswald his apartment key, ‘You can give it back to me when we’re at the Lounge tonight’.

‘I’ll get someone in to fix your lock before I leave’, Oswald said self-consciously, gesturing to the front door. ‘A key’s not much use right now’.

‘Yeah, I’d appreciate that. So, I’ll see you at work tonight?’

Oswald nodded and took the key.

 

‘Good morning Mr Nygma’, Kristen said as she entered Ed’s lab, ‘Or Good Afternoon I suppose considering it's noon’.

Ed nearly dropped the clipboard he had been taking notes on.  
Kristen never came to see him.  
Her appearance was both a welcome, unexpected pleasure and an odd, confusing development.

‘Why Miss Kringle you seem to be in a good mood’.

‘I had a wonderful time at the Lounge. Thank you’.

‘I’m glad to hear it’, Ed smiled, fighting the urge to cheer aloud, ‘What-what did you like most?’

‘I’m sorry Mr Nygma but I’m not here for a chat’, Kristen said, ‘I, I’m actually here to show you something’.

‘Oh?’ Ed asked, intrigued and starting to relax.

It was a shame he was about to leave for his appointment. Then again, perhaps this meant that Kristen’s presence here was to become a more regular phenomenon? 

‘I just noticed something really weird. This note Officer Dougherty left for me? The first letter of every line spells out your name’.

Ed fought the sudden urge to snatch the card he had written from Kristen. What was the point in taking it? He already knew she was right.

‘You see? N, Y G M, A’, Kristen read out, running a finger down the missive to ensure Ed saw it.

‘How, that, how-How odd’, Ed said, heart pounding, ‘What-What a What an amazing coincidence’.

‘Coincidence?’

‘What else could it be?’ Ed asked breezily, determinedly meeting Kristen’s lazer eye stare.

‘So, you know nothing about this?’

‘I-me? No’, Ed shrugged, putting his trembling hands into his pockets to hide them.

‘No’, Kristen repeated, looking down as she folded the card away.

‘I’m sorry Miss Kringle but would you excuse me?’ Ed asked, taking advantage of the lack of eye contact to make his escape, ‘I have a doctor’s appointment I need to get to’.

Kristen looked even more sceptical until Ed held up the appointment card he had in his coat pocket.

‘Are you alright?’ she asked, gaze softening.

‘Yes!’ Ed replied, waving a hand as he opened the door, ‘Yes, it’s just a-a checkup’.

Kristen said something that sounded friendly but Ed didn’t hear it properly as he closed the door behind him. He headed for the underground parking, fingers fumbling for his keys as he giggled giddily.  
As he entered the parking lot, he stopped laughing abruptly, conscious of the echo the space would generate.

‘Why are you laughing, you fool? It's not funny’, he snarled at himself in a low voice, the sounds of his footsteps loud on the concrete, ‘She’ll keep digging! Why did you have to leave a clue? Why?!’

‘Relax’, he replied, ‘What can she find? What can she prove? Nothing. There's no body. Stop worrying’.  
Ed reached his car and saw his reflection in the window.

‘But she looks so sad and angry’, he whispered sadly, ‘I hate it when she looks at me that way’.

Ed got into his car and slammed the door in a sudden fit of fury.

‘Please!’ he snapped, ‘Like it matters, like you stand a chance with her! She knows how you feel about her and she treats you like dirt’.

He slammed his hands on the wheel angrily and cried out at the pain from the impact.  
Taking a deep breath, he rubbed his sore hands then returned them to the steering wheel.  
He shook his head, trying to dispel the heavy, dark yet familiar presence welling up inside him.

‘I don't care, I still love her’, Ed sighed.

Oh, listen to yourself!’ he shouted, fingers gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles turned white, ‘Be a man!’

Ed didn’t reply but he felt the corners of his mouth turn upwards into a sadistic smile that was not his.

‘You'll do better with that one if she's a little scared of you’, he smirked.

‘Stop talking like that!’ Ed pleaded.

In his frantic mind, he could hear disembodied voices all jostling together for his attention. He plugged his ears trying to somehow silence them.

‘Just keeping it real’, the dark voice grinned, loudest and most damning of all, ‘What's black and white and red all over?’

‘Stop it!’ Ed yelled and beeped the horn desperately.

The sudden, loud noise worked. Ed felt the presence retreat back to the dark corners of his mind.  
Gone but not forgotten.  
As it was forced away however, it released one of many memories of overheard conversations about Ed. An act of spite no doubt.  
Kristen’s voice spoke in his mind as Ed turned the key in the ignition, trying to get his heart rate under control. 

_‘He is so weird’._

 

‘So how are you Edward?’

Ed gave a start. Dr Hugo Strange was regarding him with steepled fingers and Ed realised from the expectant silence that the Doctor had probably already asked him the question once with no reply.  
Ed stopped his fingers from drumming on the arms of his chair.  
Strange disliked nervous habits like that.

‘Fine. Good actually’, Ed said, plastering a smile onto his face, ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Come now, I always ask’, Strange said, pouring himself some herbal tea, ‘Would you care for some tea?’

‘No thank you. I’m-uh-feeling a little under the weather’, Ed commented, eyes drifting around the office, idly cataloguing the paraphernalia and bric-a-brac Strange decorated his shelves with.

His office was more akin to a disorganised antique shop than a professional psychiatrist’s office.  
Ed was convinced the chaos of it was designed to put orderly, structured people like him on edge.  
The better for Strange to watch their reactions when off balance.

‘Is it the new medication I prescribed?’ Strange asked with sympathy that Ed had realised long ago was not genuine.

‘I don’t think so’, Ed replied, trying not to dwell on how he had thrown the medication away.  
Strange’s medication always seemed to make his ’episodes’ stronger as well as make him feel unwell.

‘Just a bit of pressure at work that’s all’, Ed continued, ‘But I’m fine. Really’.

‘This will be a short, uneventful session if things are ‘fine’, Strange chuckled, ‘If there’s pressure at work then I definitely have to ask: did you take my advice? About pursuing a hobby? I’m intrigued to hear what you selected. Complex minds such as yours or mine must be fully engaged to thrive after all’.

Over the next half hour, Ed told Strange about getting a job at the ‘Iceberg Lounge’, proudly describing how he had improved his technique and his friendship with Oswald.  
It was only when he had finished his enthusiastic explanation that he realised Strange was looking at him with a mixture of confusion, concern and annoyance that Ed had somehow missed the point of an exercise.  
It irked Ed to see it.  
He had seen a lot of people look at him that way over the years.

‘It is…encouraging that you’re exploring another side of yourself Edward’, Strange said in a tone that stank of diplomacy, ‘But, isn’t the Iceberg Lounge controlled by the Penguin?’

‘I know the stories they tell about him but the Lounge is completely legitimate’.

‘Still, it could raise questions if a GCPD employee was found working there couldn’t it?’

‘I won’t tell if you won’t’, Ed joked.

‘Come now, you know I can’t. Doctor patient confidentiality. But, Edward if you happened to see anything…questionable while working there, you would report it wouldn’t you?’

Strange’s wary demeanour and patronising tone were winding Ed up much more than usual.  
When he had previously gone to Strange for therapy, he had often been irritated by the way Strange talked down to him like a stern headmaster disciplining an unruly pupil but had accepted it as just the way the man operated. Trying to portray himself as a teacher and confidant as well as Ed’s intellectual superior.  
But if Strange was truly a genius (as he had often voiced to Ed) then why couldn’t he see how working at the Lounge was a good thing for Ed?  
Could he perhaps be jealous that Ed had discovered the solution to his own issues?

‘Are you doubting Oswald’s moral compass or mine?’ Ed asked.

‘Oswald?’ Strange said, raising an eyebrow, ‘First name basis. Intriguing’.

‘He insisted’, Ed said, folding his arms, ‘Things are informal at the Lounge. Besides, we’re friends’.

‘Just 'friends?'’

Ed’s eyes narrowed at Strange’s suggestive tone.

‘What are you implying?’

‘Nothing at all’, Strange replied quickly, holding his hands up, ‘I just know that in the profession you are exploring, lines can…become blurred very quickly’. 

Ed’s jaw tightened as he remembered the night before.  
The feeling of Oswald’s lips on his.  
But no, that wasn’t like what Strange was suggesting.  
That had been a mistake.  
Ed had seen the regret in Oswald’s face himself.

‘Oswald has helped me more than you ever have’, Ed said spitefully.

‘And how do you help him in return?’ Strange asked, head tilted quizzically, ‘I wonder’.

Driven by an irrational desire to absolve Oswald of Strange’s imagined slights, Ed replied: ‘I let him stay in my apartment last night. His mother just died. He needed a place to sleep and I told him to stay as long as he needed to gather his thoughts. That’s how I help him’.

‘You gave him a key?’

Ed didn’t answer.  
He had already said too much.  
It figured that Strange would misinterpret Ed giving Oswald a key as symbolic of a deeper connection.  
The man was so base, so unimaginative, it was startling.  
And Ed was _paying_ him for this session?!

‘Tell me the truth Edward have you been taking your medication?’

‘I don’t need it’, Ed said defiantly, ‘Since I’ve started at the Lounge, I haven’t had a single episode. Soon, I won’t even need you’.

Strange leaned back in his chair, brow furrowed and Ed felt the thrill of victory in his breast.  
The slight verbal hallucination earlier didn’t count: a relapse was expected given the stress of Kristen’s unexpected accusation.

‘I think I’ll be the judge of that. Unless of course you’ve recently attained a degree in Psychiatry’.

‘But that’s what we’re trying to achieve here isn’t it?’ Ed asked, ‘‘The sign of successful therapy is when the patient doesn’t need it anymore’. You said that in our first session. All those months ago’.

‘And what do you want to achieve?’ Strange asked, frustration at Ed’s flippancy and lack of shame starting to creep into his clipped voice, ‘Apart from indulging certain people’s appetites for smut and voyeurism? When I said you needed a hobby, I meant something like a drama group or macramé’.

‘Yes, well, I aspire beyond the realms of mediocrity and predictability’.

‘Working for a psychopath like Penguin is certainly unorthodox therapy’.

‘Don’t call him that!’ Ed snapped, getting to his feet.

His heartbeat was loud in his ears and it was only when standing that he realised his fingers had curled into fists.

‘Calm down’, Strange said sternly but Ed could see the psychiatrist’s eyes widen ever so slightly.

Hugo Strange was afraid of him.  
This only made Ed angrier.  
If he couldn’t handle Ed, then what right did he have psycho analysing a complex person like Oswald?!

‘You don’t even know him! How can you sit there and make judgments about someone you don’t even know?!’

‘I like to think Edward that I might know a thing or two about _you_ given what you’ve told me’, Strange said with the vaguest hint of a threat, ‘In intimate, some would say egregious detail. For someone as suggestible as yourself, Penguin could prove a bad influence'.

Ed slammed his hands down on the table and leant over, invading Strange’s personal space.

‘I’m your hobby aren’t I Strange?’ Ed hissed, ‘All your patients are. You sit here in your ivory tower, crack us open and try to see what makes us tick. Pull out all our flaws, all the messy bits, and throw them away so we can fit neatly into the little boxes you make for us. Wind us up and watch us go’.

‘If it’s alright with you, I would like to get back to our session rather than indulging in over emotional flights of fancy’, Strange said, clearing his throat loudly, ‘I am sorry that my inference about your relationship with Penguin has agitated you but-’

Ed gave a low laugh.  
‘I’m not agitated’, Ed said truthfully as he straightened, ‘You seem nervous though. Why’s that? Is it because you worry that since I now have a friend like Oswald, it may be unwise to belittle me?’

‘Is that a threat?’ Strange asked.

Ed watched a bead of sweat trace its way down Strange’s forehead and behind his rose coloured glasses.  
Ironic fashion statement for such a cynical man.

‘Thank you for your help ‘Professor’ Strange’, Ed said dismissively, ‘But our time is up and your services are no longer required’.

‘I beg your pardon?’ Strange asked through clenched teeth.

‘I said: you need to find a new hobby’, Ed replied, as he headed for the door, ‘One less challenging for you’.

 

Ed gave himself a final check in the mirror as he tied his domino mask on.  
He had arrived at the Lounge later than expected. He had gone back to his apartment to see if Oswald was still there.  
Unable to get in without his key, he had noted the repaired lock and concluded that Oswald must be at the Lounge.  
He planned to find him after his first dance of the night.  
Both to retrieve his key but also to make sure Oswald was alright.  
Satisfied he looked the part, Ed turned to leave but stopped dead when his reflection didn’t turn with him.

‘No, no’, he hissed, ‘Not now. Just ignore it. It’s not real’.

He blamed himself even though he knew it was illogical. By mentioning how the work at the Lounge had been keeping these episodes at bay, he had jinxed things!  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his reflection begin to speak but with the condemning, rough voice of his father.

 _‘You little faggot! Kissin’ a boy on stage for all to see?! You make me sick ya little freak!’_

‘It was a school play!’ Ed whispered frantically, his frenzied responses echoing from the past to haunt him in the present, ‘The girl got sick and her understudy was a boy. I had to do it!’

 _‘But ya didn’t have to like it!’_ the hybrid in the mirror growled, _‘Is that what you want Eddie? Huh? To have another man’s dick up your ass?!’_

‘Shut up!’ Ed snapped and threw a jar of concealer at the mirror. It bounced off and rolled across the floor.  
It was stopped by a shiny black shoe.  
Ed closed his eyes in annoyance when he saw who it belonged to.  
Butch Gilzean was stealthier than anyone of that size had any right to be.

‘Bad time?’ Butch asked.

‘Yes, actually’, Ed said, determinedly ignoring the hallucination he had just experienced, ‘I’m about to go on stage’.

Butch stepped in his path.  
Ed, familiar with the outcome of a much larger more physically imposing person blocking his path thanks to hard lessons from his school years, knew better than to try and push past.

‘No you’re not’, Butch said simply, once again neatly conforming to Ed’s expectations of this encounter.

‘Where’s Oswald?’ Ed asked.

‘How about lettin’ someone else ask some questions huh?’ Butch said, closing the door behind him.

He advanced into the room.  
Despite himself, Ed stepped back.

‘Fine’, he said icily, ‘Shoot’.

‘You’re a cop’, Butch said, jabbing a finger into Ed’s chest.

‘Not a question and factually incorrect’, Ed replied, relying on facts and cold logic to overcome the nervousness from Butch’s threatening body language.

‘Don’t bullshit me’, Butch said.

Ed’s eyes widened as Butch produced a meat cleaver from a purpose built holster concealed inside his jacket.  
To distract himself from the object, Ed tried to figure out the mechanics of sewing such a holster: it would have to be reinforced but what kind of thread would you use for tensile strength and what kind of stitch would-

‘Someone followed you home last night’, Butch said, wetting his thumb and checking the sharpness of the blade, ‘You know what they saw this morning? You headin’ straight to the GCPD’.

‘Obviously this person had nothing better to do with their time than spy on me’.

‘See, usually there’s a denial at this point’, Butch said, shrugging, the cleaver shining in the light, ‘Some kinda ‘you got the wrong guy’ spiel. Why am I not hearin’ it from you?’

‘Because you’re wrong but you’ve already made up your mind about me so I’ll take whatever you can dish out then watch while Penguin pays you back for it a hundredfold’, Ed said before he could stop himself.

Butch chortled.

‘Penguin’s gonna give me a freakin’ medal for catching a snitch like you. And does this look like a good instrument for a ‘beating’?’

‘Drop it Butch’, a sudden voice interjected, ‘The cleaver and the interrogation’.

Butch spun on his heel and Ed poked his head around Butch to see Oswald in the doorway.  
Ed was glad to see Oswald looked much better than he had that morning.  
Although his mood had not seemed to have improved much.  
Unfortunately for Butch.

‘Boss, I-‘ the hapless gangster began.

‘I said: ‘Drop It’’, Oswald said in a low voice that brooked no argument.

There was a clang as Butch dropped the meat cleaver onto the table, holding up both hands in a placating gesture.

‘Listen, Nygma works for the GCPD!’ Butch cried, ‘He-‘

‘I know’, Oswald countered smoothly, ‘On my orders. Why else would he be working here as well?’.

‘I-well-‘ Butch began to mumble, obviously realising what a big mistake he had just made.

Despite the way Butch had been threatening him and his earlier bravado, Ed felt a stab of sympathy for the large man. Especially since Butch's accusation of Ed being a GCPD employee was technically correct.  
It was not a good time to rile Oswald up and Ed, despite genuinely feeling that Oswald was his friend, knew Butch’s ‘indiscretion’ would not go unpunished.  
The image of a finger rolling across the floor sprang to his mind.

‘Ed, get to work’, Oswald said matter of factly, ‘You’ve been booked for a private session and you shouldn’t keep a customer waiting. She’s already upstairs: room number four’.  
Ed rose from the chair obediently. 

‘Oswald do you really have to-?'

Ed’s question died in his throat when he saw Oswald’s eyes.  
They were locked on Butch like a bird of prey’s.  
Ed, used to seeing Oswald much more relaxed was startled by it.  
And oddly flustered.

‘I have a duty to discipline my employees’, Oswald replied coldly, ‘Especially when I’ve already warned them once’.

Ed hastily left the room with a single fleeting glance at the cleaver resting on the table.

‘Boss, look I can explain-‘ Butch began as the door swung closed with a snap, sealing him inside with Penguin.

 

‘Miss Kringle?’

Kristen nearly jumped at the voice and hastily tried to hide the tissue she had been meticulously shredding between her fingers.  
The performer from the other night, the one who had given her the rose, entered the room and removed his hat politely.

‘Please, it’s just Kristen’, she said, rising from where she had been sitting on the bed.

She wondered if she should offer a handshake but decided against it.  
This man was a professional after all.  
She didn’t want to appear too inexperienced.

‘And, uh, what should I call you?’ she asked when the performer said nothing.

Honestly, he seemed a little uneasy.  
Kristen wondered if she was doing something wrong but then he spoke.

‘I’m-‘  
The performer cleared his throat and visibly straightened as if settling into his role before bowing low.  
‘I’m The Riddler’, the performer said, voice now smooth and confident, ‘And I will be your host for this evening’.

‘Interesting name’, Kristen commented.

It seemed she couldn’t get away from riddles no matter where she turned.  
At least she could console herself with how this man looked.  
Tall with lean muscle concealed beneath an expensive looking suit.  
Totally at odds with her usual purveyor of riddles Edward Nygma.

‘Thank you…Kristen’, the Riddler said graciously, ‘What can I do for you this evening?’

Kristen’s mind went blank.  
When she had been using one of the monitors downstairs to book her session, the descriptions of what was on offer had been extensive and explicit.  
In the end she had become so flustered that she had selected ‘Other’ and God alone knew what that implied!  
Thankfully, judging from The Riddler’s question, ‘Other’ simply seemed to be a catch all rather than an indicator of anything unusual.

‘Wow. Uh, well, I guess…’, Kristen laughed nervously, ‘Sorry. It’s been a long time since anyone asked me that and, well, I’ve never done anything like this before’.

‘What would you like me to do?’

‘I dunno. Make me feel…feel…I don’t even know!’ Kristen cried, folding her arms, ‘I want to feel special I guess?! Just once!’

She gave a humourless laugh and sat on the bad.

‘How sad is it that I need to pay someone to lie to me?’ she asked wearily.

Kristen was surprised to see the Riddler get down on one knee and reach for her clasped hands. She let him take hold of her right hand and blushed when he planted a light kiss on the back of it.

‘It _is_ sad but not because of that’, he said.

‘Then why?’ Kristen asked, intrigued and lost in those warm brown eyes.

‘Because you _are_ special’, Riddler smiled at her, ‘I just think you need to be reminded of that’.

He leant forward and Kristen giggled as he whispered into her ear.

‘How can I remind you?’ he asked.

‘You’re quite the charmer Mr Riddler’, Kristen admitted.

The Riddler inclined his head and Kristen decided to simply enjoy the scenario.  
That was what tonight was about.  
Enjoying herself.

‘Um, I’m going to sit here on the bed and watch you dance now okay?’

‘Just for you’, The Riddler agreed as he stood, ‘Clothes on or off?’

Kristen smiled up at him and winked.

‘Keep the mask on’, she said, ‘I like a man with bit of…mystery about him’. 

 

Barbara ran another red light, flipping off the driver that honked angrily at her.  
In the backseat, Tabitha held Butch in a sitting position, her other hand clasped over the bloody towel covering the stump that had once housed Butch’s right hand.  
Barbara, glancing in her mirror, swore as she saw blood starting to stain her cream coloured seats.

‘Why did Penguin fly off the handle like that?!’ Barbara asked, ‘I mean, shouldn’t he be pleased that Butch caught a potential snitch?!’

‘He’s goin’ crazy ‘cause his-his mother just died’, Butch gasped through gritted teeth, ‘She was sick. He told me just before he-ah!’

‘We have to keep pressure on it Butch’, Tabitha said soothingly, ‘Just breathe’.

‘That must be why he hasn’t been around lately’, Barbara mused, ‘We should tell Theo. Since Penguin’s vulnerable, now’s our chance to-‘

‘Does this look like Penguin’s vulnerable to you?!’ Tabitha snapped, slapping the back of the front passenger seat, ‘Butch is leaking all over your backseat and you’re just thinking about being top dog at that garbage heap of a club?!’

Barbara bit back a snappy response, seeing the worry cunningly concealed beneath Tabitha’s anger. She glanced at Butch's hand secured with ice in a ziplock bag siting on the front passenger seat.

‘Don’t worry Tabby’, Barbara said reassuringly, ‘Only a few more blocks to the hospital. He’s going to be fine’.

‘I’m not worried! I’m pissed off!’ Tabitha cried, ‘This is my fault! I was the one who followed Nygma and I’m the one who got it wrong! Of course Nygma’s working for Penguin! It’s the only reason he hired the weirdo!’

‘He’s n-not just ‘working’ for him’, Butch huffed, ‘Penguin cut my hand off ‘cause…’

‘Butch! Stay awake!’ Tabitha demanded, slapping him lightly as she saw his head start to loll, ‘Why did he cut off your hand?!’

‘You…shoulda seen the way…he looked… at Nygma’.

‘What about it?! Butch?!’

Butch turned to Tabitha, eyes unfocused yet caring.

‘Same way…I look…at you’, he breathed as his eyes closed.

Tabitha held Butch close, ignoring the blood dropping onto her outfit.

‘Like I said: ‘vulnerable’’, Barbara opined brightly as she jumped another red light.


	7. Dead Letters

‘My condolences on the loss of your mother’.

The sympathy in Galavan’s voice made Oswald’s skin crawl. The detached sentiment had just enough warmth in it to almost ring genuine. The voice of a politician.   
Oswald did not reply.   
He just continued to stare down at the damp freshly covered grave in front of him.  
The service had been small. His mother had not had many friends and no other family.  
It had always just been his mother and him.  
He had been grateful that nobody else had followed the coffin to the quiet graveyard because it meant he could have some time alone with her.  
Time to say goodbye.  
But now, thanks to Galavan’s sudden appearance it seemed it was not to be.

‘I’ve been to a few funerals lately’, Galavan continued, ‘It never gets any easier’.

Oswald bristled at the undertone of recrimination in Galavan’s voice.

‘Some would say it’s your own fault for sending your spies into my businesses’, he retorted.

‘I wanted to see if you were the man they said you were’, Galavan replied, not rising to Oswald’s bait, ‘I wasn't disappointed’.

Oswald laughed bitterly.

‘What would a fine, upstanding mayoral candidate need with someone like that?’

‘In this town, the support, or assistance, of a person like that would count for a lot’, Galavan explained.

‘You have odd ways of trying to get it’, Oswald said with a bitter smile, ‘How many more henchmen do you want to waste for me to prove that?’

‘My ways may be odd to you but they're not personal’, Galavan said coolly, eyes narrowing, ‘Don't make them become personal’.

Oswald turned away from the grave and advanced on Galavan.   
Theo took a slight step back as Oswald halted in front of him, glaring.

‘Good luck with that. You're a little late’, Oswald said venomously, ‘The only person I ever cared about is lying right there. Now I suggest you back off. Now. Unless you want me to dig another hole and-‘

‘Excuse me? Oswald?’

Oswald’s head turned at the familiar voice and saw Ed was coming up the hill towards them, a bouquet in his hands.

‘Ed? What-what are you doing here?’

Galavan adjusted his coat and cleared his throat, seemingly grateful for another party having arrived on the scene.

‘I won’t waste any more of your time Mr Cobblepot’, he said with careful politeness, ‘I don’t think there’s anything more to be said’.

Oswald ignored him as he walked away.

 

‘Well?’ Tabitha prompted, watching in the limo rear view mirror as Theo got in to the backseat.

‘Butch is right’, Theo said, buckling his seatbelt, ‘He does care about Nygma. I saw it in his face’.

‘Are you as surprised as we are?’ Tabitha asked, putting the car in gear, ‘Or as nauseous?’

‘I’ve learnt to expect the unexpected from Mr Cobblepot. After all, I assumed appealing to base greed would have gotten him under my control and yet he refused to sell me his Lounge. This Penguin is an altogether different animal than I had anticipated’.

‘Is it something we can use?’

‘I believe so. Remember, I want to use Cobblepot, not kill him. Cobblepot is the key to getting this city’s criminal element under control and the key to getting Cobblepot under control is Nygma’.

‘So, we torture Nygma?’

Theo inhaled slowly, trying to keep a lid on his patience. Tabitha often let her love for excitement and fighting override long term planning. Usually Theo indulged her penchant for violence but not now.

‘I understand your eagerness’, Theo said diplomatically, ‘But that would make him useless as a bargaining chip. We want him mobile, ignorant and positioned exactly where he can do the most damage’.

‘If you say so’, Tabitha conceded reluctantly, ‘What about the connection with the GCPD?’

Theo shook his head.

‘I spoke to Captain Barnes yesterday, as a concerned citizen determined to use his political position to root out any corruption in the GCPD. Barnes threw out all of Penguin’s informants when he took the position weeks ago which leads me to assume Nygma is too well hidden to cause suspicion. If we blow the whistle on Nygma it will show our hand and if we threaten him, Penguin will take steps to protect him’.

‘So, what are we supposed to do?!’ Tabitha exclaimed.

‘We threaten Nygma’s friends or family instead’.

‘He doesn’t seem like a social butterfly but I can find out-‘

‘No’, Theo said sternly, ‘Penguin knows you’re connected to Butch so he likely suspects you already. I want you both to be the picture of quiet contrition and obedience’.

Sensing Tabitha rankling under his commands, Theo added, ‘Until, of course, I tell you otherwise’.

‘Fine', Tabitha said, 'We tried spice and it got us burnt. I’m okay with giving sweetness a try’.

 

‘I hope I wasn’t intruding? It just seemed like that conversation was becoming unpleasant’.

Oswald chuckled fondly at Ed’s awkwardness.

‘You weren’t intruding at all’, Oswald said, patting Ed’s arm, ‘I cannot tell you how relieved I am to see you. Today has been..’

Oswald cleared his throat trying to resist the urge to glance back towards his mother’s grave.

‘I’m sorry I missed the service’, Ed said gently, ‘But I couldn’t get away from the station’.

He walked past Oswald and laid the flowers on the grave.

Oswald took the opportunity to wipe his eyes when Ed’s back was turned.

‘I hope these are alright’, Ed said, smoothing down the petals, ‘I remembered she had them in her apartment’.

‘Lillies were her favourite’, Oswald said in a tight voice, beginning to carefully make his way down the hill.

Ed followed him and ghosted his steps, ready to move if Oswald’s leg should fail him.  
Their eyes met and Oswald felt a rush of warmth and heartache at the naked sympathy and concern on Ed’s face.  
Nobody had ever looked at him like that except his mother.

‘I’m alright’, Oswald said with a smile he hoped looked stronger than he felt before changing the subject, ‘Anyway, how are you? I'm sorry I've been neglecting you these last few nights. Are you enjoying work at the Lounge?’

‘Work is going well’, Ed said, keen to help Oswald get his mind off the sadness of the day, ‘I-uh-I actually have a recurring customer’.

‘Really?’ Oswald asked, pleased at the pride Ed obviously took in his achievement, ‘Well done!’

‘Thank you. She's come in nearly every night for the last week! I think-I think I really make her happy!’

They reached the bottom of the hill where Oswald’s limo was waiting. He gestured to it as a silent enquiry if Ed needed a lift but Ed jerked a thumb down the trail where his own car was waiting.  
Oswald was touched.  
Ed had driven all the way out here to bring Oswald’s mother flowers.

‘Well, you must be doing something right’, Oswald said, ‘Which room?’

‘Number four. Always number four’.

‘Good’, Oswald said appraisingly, ‘Usually long term clients are creatures of habit. Speaking of habits, Ed, have you ever seen Theo Galavan in the Lounge? The one from the election posters, the man I was just speaking to?’

‘Once or twice. Why? Is he a problem?’

‘No. Just an irritant’, Oswald said with a sneer, ‘Who somehow knew about my mother’s funeral’.

‘Butch said something about someone following me to my apartment’, Ed offered, ‘Could that person have something to do with it?’

‘I don't know’, Oswald said, fist tightening, ‘But I’m going to find out’.

 

'What if he finds out?' 

‘Hmm?’ Ed asked, alerted by the quiet worry in Kristen’s voice.

She was lying beside him in the bed, wearing only the pink silk dressing gown provided to any female guest that chose to book one of the Lounge’s private rooms.  
It had seen a great deal of use ever since Kristen had started coming to the Lounge almost every night but tonight was finally the night she had seen fit to escalate their ‘appointments’ to more than just a strip tease, kissing or light bodily contact.  
Ed, long past the point of modesty, was naked save for his domino mask, arm draped protectively around Kristen as her head rested on his chest.  
He was awash with success at what they had just shared together but Kristen’s deflated attitude was worrying.   
Had he done something wrong?  
Flouted some unspoken rule during their coupling?  
He knew he had been ready to finally fulfil the desire he had kept to himself for so long but he had made sure to go at a pace that Kristen approved of.  
So, surely it was impossible for Ed’s performance to displease her since he had only obeyed Kristen’s orders as per the terms of his employment?  
She had certainly seemed to be enjoying it at the time.

‘Nothing’, Kristen said quickly, ‘Never mind’.

‘Kristen, what's the matter?’

‘I'm scared’.

‘Of what?’

‘Tom Dougherty. He-he was my boyfriend and he used to tell me if he ever saw me with another man, he would kill me. I'm terrified of what will happen when he ever comes back’.

Ed couldn’t suppress a relieved laugh.

‘You don't need to worry about that’, he said, patting Kristen.

‘No’ Kristen cried, confused at the stripper’s lack of concern, ‘You don't know him. He is…’

She sat up and exhaled shakily.

‘He’s a monster’.

Ed sat up too and cupped her face in his hands.

‘Listen to me’, he said seriously, ‘You do not need to worry about Tom Dougherty’.

Kristen smiled indulgently as she stroked the stripper’s hands with her own.

‘You’re sweet but you're not a fighter’, she said, ‘Besides, you’re someone I pay for a good time not a knight in shining armour. You couldn't possibly take him on. Why would you?’

‘Trust me, it's been taken care of’.

‘What does that mean?’ Kristen asked warily.

Ed, feeling as if he were under a searchlight began to confess. He couldn’t help it. He could see it in Kristen’s eyes: a desire for the truth. A desire to understand.

‘Um, some time ago, he and I had an altercation. I asked him to treat you with more respect and he said he would treat you any way he liked and he assaulted me’.

‘But, how could you possibly know who-‘

‘Kristen, you know who I really am. I know you do’.

Kristen gave a start at the blunt words and shook her head.

‘No, I-I don’t I-‘

Ed took hold of her hands and squeezed slightly.

‘Please Kristen. It’s okay if this kind of relationship is all you want from me but don’t you think it’s time to be honest about it? Both of us?’

Kristen’s open mouth closed slowly and she reached for Ed’s domino mask with shaking fingers. With a gentle tug it came loose and Ed’s face was fully exposed.  
Kristen’s eyes closed slowly and she exhaled heavily.  
Her expression uncomfortably reminded Ed of someone seeing the dead body of a loved one for the first time.

‘What happened with you and Tom?’ Kristen asked in a deliberately emotionless voice, eyes still closed.

It was outside of your apartment under the elevated train. I stabbed him and he died’.

Kristen’s eyes snapped opened, the horror palpable on her face.

‘Oh my God. The note with your name on it! You-you did kill-Oh my God!’

‘What's wrong?’

‘How could you?! Kristen cried, aghast, as she jumped up from the bed.

‘Where are you going? No, please, sit down’.

‘Don't touch me!’ Kristen snapped, slapping at his seeking fingers.

‘Would you please let me explain?’

‘There is nothing to explain. I don't even know who you are!’

‘But you did! You must have known! This mask isn’t enough to fool you!’

Kristen looked as if Ed had slapped her.

‘No, that's wrong!’ she snapped as her eyes darted from side to side, ‘You are a murderer!’

‘He was a monster! You said so! He was abusing you’.

‘I can't believe I even fell for you, you sicko!’

Ed shook his head, his heart breaking at the rage and betrayal on Kristen’s face.

‘I'm not sick. I love you. I did it for you’, he said, bewildered and hurt.

Kristen wasn’t listening. She was gathering her clothes into a messy bundle in her arms, shaking her head violently.

‘Everything I ever thought about you, I was right. I should have my head examined for ever playing along with this sick little fantasy of yours!’

‘Wasn’t it your fantasy too?!’ Ed retorted, ‘To have someone care for you and be kind to you?! To show you how special you are?!’

‘Wait, what were you doing outside my house?’

‘I was worried for you!’ Ed explained, hating the scared way Kristen was recoiling from him.

‘You were stalking me!’ Kristen angrily corrected, running a hand savagely through her hair, ‘And those coupons! You killed Tom then deliberately led me here!’

She jabbed a finger into Ed’s chest but the words that came next hurt far more than the stabbing sensation of Kristen’s fingertip.

‘You are a psychopath!’

‘That is not true!’ Ed protested, feeling more helpless and ashamed by the second, ‘That's not who I am. Don't say that about me!’

‘You are going to prison where they will do horrible things to you’, she said spitefully, ‘Things that you deserve’.

Kristen pushed past him, painfully jarring his shoulder as she made for the door.

‘Don't say that to me!’ Ed cried, grabbing hold of Kristen in sheer blind panic as her words conjured up ghastly potential futures.

‘Don't touch me! Let go of me, you freak!’ Kristen raged, slapping Ed in the face.

Ed tasted blood in his mouth and grabbed hold of Kristen’s wrists. She cried out in pain but Ed couldn’t afford to let go.  
Kristen’s clothes fell to the floor around them.

‘Please don't call me that’, Ed said in a hollow voice as he tried desperately to stop Kristen striking out at him.

Kristen began to scream and even though he knew the private room was soundproofed, Ed placed a hand over her mouth to silence her.  
He pushed her so her back was against the wall and held her there.  
She had to listen to him!  
She had to understand!  
Ed stared deep into her widened, tearful eyes and poured his heart out.

‘Listen to me. I am not the man that you think I am. I would never do anything to hurt you. I had to kill him because he hit you. Do you understand that?! I did it for you’.

Kristen’s blows were stalling and weakening.  
This encouraged Ed to keep going, realising he must be getting through to her at last.

‘I did all of this for you and I’m sorry you had to find out this way but I promise I will never do anything to hurt you ever again!’

Kristen’s eyes had become unfocused and distant.   
No anger remained in them. None of the spite that had been piercing his soul moments before.  
Ed loosened his hold on Kristen’s mouth and neck, trusting her not to scream.

‘I love you!’ Ed cried feverishly, throwing himself on her mercy by fully releasing his grip, ‘I've loved you since the first moment that I saw you!’

Kristen didn’t reply. Simply slumped down into a sitting position, eyes staring straight ahead.   
It was only when Ed felt her wrist that the awful truth reared its head and laughed at him.  
Kristen Kringle was dead.  
And Ed had killed her with the word‘love’ on his lips.

 

‘Boss, I’m telling you I don’t know what you’re talking about’, Tabitha said, ‘Why would I follow Nygma? What do I care where he lives?’

Oswald leant back in his chair.  
Tabitha sat on the other side of his desk, looking suitably perplexed at having been summoned without warning to Oswald’s office.  
Oswald had to begrudgingly admit if she was acting, she was doing a good job but continued with his enquiries.

‘Ed says someone followed him home the other night and the very next day Butch makes the stupid decision to try and torture him on the belief he is a GCPD spy. You and I both know Butch is not smart enough to draw that conclusion but we also both know that Butch has a bad habit of listening to your little schemes’.

‘You really think I could get Butch to do something like that?’ Tabitha asked, brow furrowed.

‘You are an item’, Oswald replied, standing and walking round the desk, ‘I’m sure you could persuade him somehow’.

Tabitha gave a spontaneous bark of laughter that took Oswald by surprise.

‘He says we’re an ‘item’? Oh my God: is that what he’s telling people?’ Tabitha guffawed, rolling her eyes, ‘Boss, look at me. We are not an item. I smile at him and he thinks it’s love. Happens all the time in this line of work’.

‘And yet you've been to see him in the hospital?’ Oswald pressed, leaning down to Tabitha’s eye level, deliberately invading her personal space.  
He could detect no trace of nervous sweat beneath her perfume.

‘He hasn’t got anyone else and he tips well!’ Tabitha replied incredulously, ‘I only went to bring him a card from all the girls. Ask them! Ask him!’

Oswald stared deep into her eyes but Tabitha didn’t blink.  
Eventually he withdrew, moving back around to the other side of his desk.

‘No need’, Oswald said, ‘You’ve said exactly what I was hoping you'd say’.

‘Is that a good thing for me?’ Tabitha asked uneasily, clearly rattled by the grilling she had just received.

‘And for me’, Oswald said with a reassuring smile, ‘If you'd been laying low or looked the least bit upset it would have been an admission of guilt and I would have hated to…dismiss such a valuable employee’.

‘Glad I didn’t disappoint you’, Tabitha smiled back.

The smile vanished when she saw Oswald’s eyes turn cold and his smile change to a threatening display of teeth.

‘This time’, Oswald said warningly, ‘Don’t give me a reason to suspect you again’.

Tabitha was trying to think of a suitably pacifying reply when there was a sudden change to Oswald’s expression as his eyes drifted down.

‘Please, excuse me’, he said, hastily leaving the office.

Tabitha reached for a nearby letter opener and threw it over her shoulder just as she heard Oswald close the door.  
Glancing over her shoulder, she saw it embedded in the woodwork right where Oswald’s head had been scant seconds earlier.   
She smiled with satisfaction at the accuracy of her aim as well as the tension it had helped her release. It had taken a great deal of energy and restraint not to jab it into Oswald’s eye.  
Getting up from her chair, she walked to the other side of Oswald’s desk and was intrigued to find a row of separate lights set into the frame, each one with a numerical label under it. From the position of the lights, she realised these must have been what had caused Oswald to leave the office in such a hurry.  
One light with the number four under it was silently flashing red like an alarm.

 

‘We’ll put her with my mother. It’s a fresh grave and nobody will think to look there’.

Ed gave no sign he had heard Oswald speak. He just continued to stare at Kristen, lying where she had fallen. Where Oswald had forced Ed to let go of her lifeless corpse. At least he had closed her eyes.

Ed tried to say thank you but instead said, ‘I’ve done it again’.  
Oswald nodded.

‘She was going to expose you’, he said, ‘It was self-preservation. She should have been grateful you killed Dougherty’.

Ed shook his head.

‘That’s not what I meant’.

‘What do you mean?’

Ed looked at Oswald, feeling foolish in his costume. He felt like a child: lost and alone.

‘The other night in my apartment, I wanted to tell you. I-I…’

‘What is it Ed? You can tell me anything’.

‘I killed my father', Ed said numbly, 'I stabbed him a dozen times and he died on our kitchen floor’.

Ed burst out laughing, the stress of the situation and admitting the secret of his father’s demise finally overpowering his coping mechanisms.

‘Did he deserve it?’ Oswald asked quietly.

‘He hurt my mother’, Ed replied, tears flowing freely down his face, ‘He hurt her even though I always begged him to stop. I-I couldn’t take it anymore. It's why I came to Gotham’.

‘He hurt you’, Oswald said, remembering the scars Ed had shown him.

Oswald’s sympathy was too much for Ed to bear and he burst into tears.

‘But-but now I’m just like him!’ Ed sobbed, ‘He always told my mother he loved her but he hurt her! I-I’ve hurt Kristen! I’ve killed Kristen! I just wanted to protect her! I loved her! I did! I loved her Oswald! But-but I- oh God!’

Ed gasped as Oswald took a tight hold of his shoulders and shook him slightly. Ed tried to quiet his sobs, startled by Oswald’s firm yet reassuring touch.

‘Ed, listen to me’, Oswald said, looking him in the eyes, ‘This was an accident. Your father hurting your mother was not. There is a difference. You are not your father’.

‘Oswald’, Ed breathed, shivering as Oswald brushed a strand of hair from his face.

The intimacy of the gesture, Oswald’s belief in him and willingness to help him hide his dark side as well as the adrenaline flowing through his veins were intertwining to create a heady, irresistible cocktail.  
Ed knew he was about to do something drastic.  
He just didn’t know what yet.  
The suspense was almost erotic.  
And ultimately irresistible. 

‘What is it?’ Oswald asked.

The next thing Oswald knew was the sensation of Ed’s lips on his and the warmth of Ed’s fingertips in his hair as he held him in place.  
Oswald, startled by the suddenness of the gesture but maintaining enough presence of mind not to take advantage of Ed in a compromised state, physically broke the kiss.  
The feeling of Ed’s lips being removed from his was akin to a physical ache.  
Ed’s eyes opened and cleared as if he was awaking from a spell.  
He practically leapt backwards, nearly stumbling over his own feet.

‘I am so sorry!’ Ed cried, ‘I-I don’t know why I did that! I-‘

Oswald held up an arresting yet quivering hand.

‘Look, just…go back downstairs and get through the rest of the shift’, Oswald said in a detached tone, ‘We’ll talk tomorrow’.

Ed seemed like he was about to argue but decided against it.  
He looked down at Kristen’s corpse and with sudden speed, knelt down and took her glasses from her face. He hesitated with them in his fingers as if awaiting chastisement from Oswald but when none was forthcoming, he folded them and gently placed them in his breast pocket before leaving the room without a word.

 

Barbara flicked through the reservations book, running a manicured nail down each page as she scanned the names.  
As per Tabitha’s tip off, Nygma only seemed to have one recurring customer. A woman named Kristen Kringle who habitually booked the fourth room on the roster. The room whose silent alarm had been tripped earlier that night.  
Nygma had been back on stage for an hour now and the Kringle woman had yet to return downstairs.  
Barbara closed the book and went to the computer, clicking on a series of links to find details of how Kringle paid for the ‘hospitality’ on offer. She was surprised to find that none of the transactions had involved real money.  
For once, she was grateful for Penguin putting her in charge of reception while Butch recovered. He had been forced to grant her access (albeit limited access) to systems she would otherwise have been unable to see.  
Kringle had paid for everything in ‘family and friends’ coupons. Only available when given out by employees of the Lounge.

‘Naughty, naughty Nygma’, Barbara whispered to herself, clicking her tongue, ‘She’s not just a customer is she?’

Locking the screen and, with a quick glance around to ensure she was alone, Barbara opened the door to the cloakroom and slipped inside.  
Guests were not permitted to bring handbags or any other objects up to the rooms in case of hidden recording equipment or weapons and it didn’t take Barbara long to locate Kringle’s black handbag.  
She unzipped it and poked around inside.  
She smirked in triumph as she held up Kringle’s GCPD work ID and read the piece of card that had been clipped to it.  
It seemed to be a ‘Dear Jane’ letter from an ex-boyfriend but as Barbara looked closer, she noticed Ed’s carefully hidden message.  
Intrigued and feeling pleased with herself, Barbara returned the evidence to the bag and placed it back where she found it.  
‘The GCPD it is then’, Barbara said aloud as she headed back out to reception.  
It wasn’t much of a lead but it was the only one she had.

 

‘Ed, have you seen Kristen?’

Ed turned as Lee Thompkins entered his lab in the GCPD. He noticed the card clutched in her hands and sighed shakily, holding his head in his hands.

‘So you got one too’, he said mournfully.

He pushed a card on his desk towards Lee who picked it up and compared it to her own.  
Save for a few changes in pronouns and a more impersonal tone, it was identical.

‘It’s true then?’ Lee asked, ‘Kristen’s left Gotham with Dougherty?’

Ed nodded dolefully.

‘But he was abusive!’ Lee said, placing the card back down on the desk.

Ed gave a soft, humourless chuckle and as he looked up at her, Lee noted with concern how raw his eyes looked.

‘Love’, Ed said hoarsely.

‘Wow. I-I'm stunned’, Lee stuttered, shaking her head, ‘Oh, Ed you must be devastated. I know how you felt about her-‘

Ed gave a noticeable sniff and Lee felt a pang of sympathy as she saw his shoulders shake compulsively.  
Kristen had made no secret that she found Ed odd and off putting but Lee couldn’t help but feel sorry for the obviously heartbroken forensic scientist.  
Maybe if Kristen had given Ed a chance in the first place, she could have spared herself a lot of heartache?

‘Right now, I'm just trying to focus on the job’, Ed said in a choked voice, rubbing his eyes beneath his glasses.

‘Well, let me know if you ever want to talk’, Lee offered, rubbing Ed’s back companionably.

‘Thank you’, Ed said through tears, as he turned his attention to a pile of files on his desk, ‘That means a lot’.

‘Listen, go take a minute okay? Doctor’s orders’, Lee commanded, waving a hand at the bodies waiting for Ed’s attention, ‘These corpses aren’t going anywhere’.

‘Okay’, Ed whispered then, after a deep, cleansing breath, repeated in a stronger voice, ‘Okay’.

Lee watched him go and began to look through the files, checking if there was any work she could take off Ed’s hands.

Ed was a conscientious worker but the news had obviously hit him hard.  
He didn’t need any extra stress right now.

‘Lee?’

Lee smiled at the voice and the polite knock that accompanied it.

‘Isabella’, she said to the newcomer, ‘What are you doing here?’

Isabella smiled in greeting and held up a softback book.   
Save for her blonde hairstyle, she was the splitting image of her sister, Kristen.

‘I promised Kristen I’d lend her this book. Is she here?’

‘Wait, you haven’t heard?’

‘Heard what?’

Lee showed Isabella Kristen’s goodbye card and allowed her time to process the news.

‘She left town without telling me?’ Isabella asked, stunned.

‘She probably slipped a note under your door. It seems she didn’t tell anyone face to face’.

Isabella seemed about to throw the card in a nearby trashcan but then relented and passed it back to Lee.

‘I can’t believe this’, she said, sitting down on a stool, ‘She said she’d been seeing someone new! She seemed so happy!’

‘Someone new?’ Lee asked, ‘Who?’

‘She never said! Wait, you don’t think she told me that just to cover her tracks do you?’

‘Maybe’, Lee admitted, the theory carrying a ring of truth to it, ‘Sorry you had to find out this way’.

‘It’s fine. Not your fault’, Isabella said, waving a hand though her annoyance was obvious, ‘I guess I’ll head home and check the mail’.

Isabella walked briskly down the hall, mind whirring so much she almost collided with someone as she rounded a corner.  
She apologised and tried to move out of the way, only for the woman to address her.

‘Wow. Blonde's a good look for you’.

‘Can I help you?’

The woman’s face dropped in an expression all too familiar to an identical twin: misidentification. 

‘Oh! Sorry!’ the woman said, ‘I thought you were someone else!’

‘Kristen Kringle?’ Isabella asked.

‘Yeah! She's a friend but you have got to be her twin right? Sorry for the mixup’.

‘No, no, it's alright!’ Isabella smiled, ‘It happens all the time. I'm Isabella Kringle’. 

She offered her hand to the woman who took it and introduced herself.

‘Barbara. Do you work here too?’

‘No, I work at the records office but if you're here to visit Kristen, it looks like we've both been wasting our time. She's up and left town’.

‘Really?’ Barbara asked, apparently just as surprised as Isabella had been, ‘When?’

‘Last night’, Isabella said, unable to keep a tone of sarcasm from her voice, ‘Don’t worry, you’ll probably get a note about it. Everyone else did’.

‘I heard her boyfriend Tom skipped town but isn’t it a little strange for her to just up and leave without telling her own sister?’ Barbara asked.

Hearing it said so openly did give Isabella pause but she discounted her doubts almost immediately. The card had definitely been in Kristen’s writing. She would know her distinctive style anywhere.

‘Kristen sometimes...makes bad decisions’, Isabella said, ‘I'm sure you know what kind of person Tom was but I think she might've had second thoughts about their relationship and followed him’.

‘But she was at the Iceberg Lounge last night and she didn't seem in any rush to go anywhere’.

‘What?’ Isabella demanded, ‘What was she doing in a place like that?!’

‘More like who she was doing’, Barbara couldn’t help thinking but she said aloud:-  
‘Listen, I don't want to worry you but I came here to return Kristen's bag. She left it there last night’. 

Barbara held up the bag and Isabella’s eyes widened just as Barbara hoped they would. It seemed her gamble to bring the unretrieved bag along as a prop was bearing fruit even if Kristen herself could not be found.

‘What are you saying?’ Isabella asked though Barbara could already see a hundred awful interpretations of her words running through the brain under Isabella’s blonde updo.

‘I'm saying Kristen might be in trouble’.

‘Oh my God’, Isabella cried, covering her mouth, ‘I knew something was wrong when I called her and she didn't pick up! She always picks up!’

‘It's okay, it's okay’, Barbara said soothingly yet firmly, ‘Come on, we're gonna need some help’.

‘Should-shouldn't we tell the police?’ 

‘You know who owns the Iceberg Lounge?’

Isabella nodded. Everybody knew Penguin.

‘He also owns some of the police’, Barbara said conspiratorially, ‘We cant trust them’.

‘But then, who are we supposed to tell?! Who can we trust?’

‘Don't worry, you'll recognise him from his posters’, Barbara promised, taking out her cellphone and selecting Theo’s number.

 

Ed glowered at his reflection in the locker room mirror.  
It smiled back at him, adjusting its black bowler hat. It seemed his hallucination approved of his Lounge costume.

‘What are you doing here?’ Ed growled, ‘I banished you for good’.

‘Almost. Love of a good woman and all of that’, the reflection said flippantly, ‘Though, we both know how that turned out. Yikes’.

Ed couldn’t stand to see the almost cartoonish grimace on his reflection’s face so he looked down into the sink. He could sense his reflection’s eyes on him though.

‘Obviously she wasn’t what you hoped she’d be’.

‘It was an accident’, Ed mumbled, ‘I'm not that man. I'm gonna make this right’.

‘See, I knew you'd wake up all boo-hooey’, his reflection said snidely, ‘You probably have half a mind to turn yourself in. Luckily, I have the other half. When Dr. Thompkins walked in the room, how did it feel?’

‘I was terrified. She could have seen right through that note’.

‘But she didn't. You got away with it’.

‘That's not the point’.

‘That is absolutely the point!’ his reflection suddenly shouted.

The shock of the noise was so much that Ed actually glanced around in case anybody had heard.

‘You can still feel the rush, can't you?’ his reflection continued, ‘Coming so close to getting caught. Knowing what you would have been forced to do if she had discovered what you had done. Standing at the edge of uncertainty and peering into the void’.

Ed did not reply.  
His reflection tilted its head, a slow smirk spreading across its face.

‘Like last night with Penguin’, it said knowingly, ‘You told him what you did to your father and he understood. He could’ve rejected you like Kringle but he didn’t! You kissed him and he kissed you, the real you, and you know what? He liked it!’

Ed’s heart was pounding in his chest as he remembered.  
His reflection was nodding, luxuriating in the sensations as Ed recalled it with picture perfect clarity.  
Ed had fallen asleep thinking about it.  
With Oswald’s name on his lips.  
He knew he should feel bad. He had done an awful thing to Kristen and Penguin was helping to hide his mistake.  
But then, why did he feel so alive?

‘Now tell me’, the reflection growled, ‘How. Did. It. Feel?’

Ed looked up and saw his flushed cheeks and fluttering eyelashes reflected in the mirror.

‘Beautiful’, Ed breathed and smiled through his tears.


	8. A Lure and A Leash

Oswald watched Ed spin once more on the pole as the crowd cheered and clapped.  
He was halfway through his first dance and the Lounge was packed with women for ‘Ladies’ Night’.  
It was not just Ed’s languid, evocative movements that had won him fans. As he danced, he made napkins into delicate origami shapes.  
Oswald watched as one woman giggled like a delighted child upon being handed a snow white swan and another’s face redden as she was gifted with a red rose.  
Some may have considered the gimmick saccharine but Ed was making sure to show plenty of skin for them to make up for it.  
The crowd loved Ed.  
Oswald bitterly reflected on how they weren’t the only ones.

Shouldn’t a person be more upset about the death of someone they had professed to love?

The woman Kristen Kringle had obviously not just been a ‘co-worker’ as Ed had initially claimed.  
He had used Oswald to help hide his involvement in the murder of another potential suitor for her and then used his position at the Lounge to pursue her.  
Right up until it had blown up in his face the night before.  
Looking at his face now, there was no indication at all that he had just lost the love of his life.  
It made Oswald wonder how much truth there really was to Edward Nygma.  
A more rational part of Oswald’s brain countered this bitterness with the fact that technically Ed did not owe him any affection. Ed worked for Oswald for money as a good employee was expected to.  
Ed had asked for his help and Oswald had given it freely. Even enthusiastically.  
It was a basic rule of management: Never confuse business with pleasure.

Was that how Ed was planning on manipulating him?  
Trying to take advantage of Oswald’s mistake by pretending to return his feelings?  
The thought make Oswald feel sick because it made too much sense.  
It had been too convenient.  
Ed showing up as a ‘late entrant’ to the interview process and having all the answers Oswald was looking for. Approaching him openly in the GCPD. Being so kind to Oswald’s mother and Oswald after she had passed away.  
Pretending to understand him!  
Oswald had been naïve to even entertain such a string of coincidences.  
The worst part was that Oswald had nearly fallen for it.  
He had been so desperate to believe he had practically thrown himself at Ed, never mind falling.

Oswald rubbed his tired eyes, aggravated by the whirling green lights and loud music.  
He hadn’t slept the night before.  
The questions he was pondering now had circled around and around in his brain like sharks with needle like teeth ever since he had ordered Ed to finish his shift and leave Kristen’s corpse to Oswald.  
Oswald had been so rattled by his doubts that he hadn’t had the heart to dispose of it, summoning the recovered and suitably contrite Butch to deal with it.  
Ed finally discarded his shirt and the crowd erupted like a pack of baying hounds.

Ed must be working for Galavan somehow.  
How else had Galavan known about the location and time of his mother’s funeral?  
Even how Ed had appeared, like a knight in shining armour, to salve the sting of Galavan’s naked threats raised suspicion.

And that tearful confession the previous night about murdering his own father!  
Normal people didn’t just blurt things like that out! Ed had obviously intended to confess it to him sooner. The play was obvious: a careful trail of breadcrumbs.  
Jusst a way for Ed to get Oswald to let his guard down then confuse him further by kissing him.  
Ed had just been trying to convince him that they were somehow the same and for the briefest of moments, Oswald had dared to hope that-  
Oswald shook his head, simultaneously thankful and resentful that reality had finally shattered that illusion.  
Oswald remembered an old adage he had always taken to heart: Once you knew what a man loved, you knew what could kill him.  
In enjoying his newfound friendship and indulging his desire for Ed, Oswald had left himself vulnerable.  
It had to end.  
If Ed was working for Galavan, pushing him away removed Galavan’s advantage and Oswald would not have to bear the inevitable heartache of Ed’s betrayal.  
And if not, if Ed was totally innocent, then Ed would not be vulnerable to Galavan's machinations, whatever they may be.  
Of course, the most logical option would be to fire Ed.  
Banish him completely from both his presence and his thoughts.  
It would be safer for both of them.  
Oswald sighed heavily.  
But then he would truly be alone.  
He caught Ed’s eye and was forced to look away when Ed smiled at him, ashamed of his selfishness.  
Tomorrow.  
Tomorrow he would decide.  
For now he would watch Ed shine.

Ed finished his routine with a flourish as he saluted the crowd with his hat, standing only in his socks, briefs and mask. Oswald was right: people liked it when you left a little to their imagination.  
As he bathed in the applause, he looked for Oswald only to find him conspicuously absent.  
A tad crestfallen that Oswald had slipped out without commenting on his performance but conscious that Oswald’s presence must have been required elsewhere, Ed left the stage after gathering his clothes.  
He decided to find Oswald later.  
To thank him for all his help and maybe, just maybe, to broach the subject of the kiss from the night before.  
Ed had been thinking about that kiss all day.  
Especially when he saw Oswald watching him dance.

Ed hummed cheerily in the dressing room as he redressed himself to prepare for the next set. Between dances he liked to move between the tables, just to elicit interest and gauge the crowd.  
It was exciting and enthralling to see what people reacted to.  
Oswald had been right about that too.  
Each customer was a riddle to be solved.  
It was no wonder Ed was excelling at it!

‘Nygma?’

‘Yes?’ Ed asked with all the politeness he could muster.

He knew Butch had paid a heavy price for his mistake (as evidenced by the ugly, raw looking scar on his right wrist where his hand had been reattached) but still resented the implication Butch had made of him being a traitor.

‘You got a customer. Room Four’.

Ed suppressed a twitch at the mention of the room number. The room where he had…where Kristen had died. Just his luck.

‘What’s the brief?’ Ed asked.

Butch read the handwritten description the guest had inscribed onto the clipboard sheet. Despite Butch’s initial misgivings about the waivers and paperwork, customers never had a problem outlining what they wanted. Butch was often impressed by how matter of fact the descriptions were. To his disappointment, this particular example was actually fairly non descript.

‘Casual yet engaging conversation over a drink and maybe something more, dot, dot, dot’.

‘Ellipsis’.

‘Huh?’

‘Nothing’, Ed said, placing his bowler hat back on and ensuring it was titled ever so slightly.

‘Impolite to keep a lady waitin’’, Butch said, brow furrowed and left.

 

When Ed entered Room Four, his guest was in the en suite bathroom.  
He knocked on the door to signal his arrival and the singing emanating from the bathroom halted.  
Ed was a little disappointed.  
It had been perfectly in tune. 

‘I hope the wine is alright’, the unseen woman said, ‘Impossible to pick the perfect bottle, isn't it?’ 

Ed nodded approvingly at the sound of the lady’s voice. Gentle and friendly sounding with obvious intellectual refinement.  
Good start to the evening.

Subconsciously, he stepped around where Kristen had fallen the night before. 

‘Well, it all depends on region and vintage’, Ed said, looking at the bottle sitting on the nightstand.

It had no label so he picked it up and gave it an experimental sniff.  
He sighed at the scent.  
A heady, full bodied red with hints of summer fruits, spicy and borderline exotic.  
Almost like Miss Kringle’s perfume.

The sound of the bathroom door opening drew his attention and he put the wine down.  
He turned to face his guest but before he could bow courteously as usual, he froze.

‘Miss Kringle?’ he gasped.

‘No. Oh, no. My name's Isabella. Um, I'm sorry if first names aren’t allowed, I-I don’t usually come to place like this but when I saw you on stage I just… There's just, um, something about you’.

Ed straightened slowly, suddenly realising he was still in a stooped position preparing to bow.  
At first he thought it was a hallucination but the woman in front of him was too tangible, too beautiful, to be the product of his brain.  
She wore a simple black dress, a pearl necklace around her elegant neck and her blonde, styled hair shone beneath the lights.  
She was practically glowing.  
And staring at him, confused by his lack of response.  
Ed cleared his throat, trying to regain some professional composure.

‘There's-There's no need to apologize’, he said, smiling, ‘You ju- You remind me of someone that I used to know’.

Isabella laughed lightly and offered her hand.  
Ed took it and kissed the back of it.

‘You struggle to regain me. When I'm lost you struggle to obtain me. What am I?’

Ed’s eyes widened at the whispered riddle and he beamed as he looked up to see Isabella looking at him expectantly.  
Nobody ever asked him a riddle.

‘Time’, he answered.

Her delight at the correct answer was so appealing he decided to acquiesce to her request for first names.

‘I'm Edward’.

His heart fluttered when Isabella smiled at him.  
Kristen had never smiled at him that way.

 

‘Since when do I need an appointment to see you?’

Oswald gritted his eyes shut as he heard Ed approaching and steeled himself against the rebuke in the admonition.  
He opened his eyes and stared down at his mother’s grave, refusing to look at Ed even as the other man stood beside him.  
He didn’t need to look at him to tell Ed had brought flowers.  
The powerful smell of lillies filled the air.

‘Everyone else does’, Oswald replied, ‘What are you doing here?’

Ed’s fingers tightened around the bouquet, Oswald’s frosty demeanour making him feel foolish for bringing them.  
He licked his lips, trying desperately to figure out a diplomatic way to proceed.  
Oswald had avoided him every day for the past week save for a terse nod or non-comital reply.  
Ed felt his arm tense beneath his coat.  
He ached all over.  
The reason was Isabella.  
Unlike Kristen, Isabella’s sexual appetites were more varied and extreme, no doubt due to the lack of negative feelings from past physical abuse.  
She was dominant.  
Commanding.  
Irresistible.  
The previous night’s appointment had involved scented candle wax and a whip and Ed was still feeling the effects despite Isabella’s promise to be ‘gentle’.  
At first the erotic threshold of pleasure and pain in their lovemaking had been exciting to explore but Isabella’s nightly appointments were starting to take their toll and Ed was still suspicious of her uncanny resemblance to Kristen.  
That was the other reason he had come here but it seemed Oswald didn’t want to discuss anything at all.

‘I just-I don’t think I ever said ‘thank you’. For your help with Kristen’.

Ed had intended this remark to be a spring board to discuss Isabella but before he could continue, Oswald shot it down.

‘Is that all?’

‘Listen, is-is that why you’re angry with me?’

‘I’m not angry’, Oswald said in an almost bored tone, ‘I’ve just realised I’ve gotten too close to you and I think you’ve misunderstood my intentions. We are employer and employee nothing more’.

The bluntness of the statement made Ed laugh even as his heart sank.

‘That’s not true’, he countered, ‘I care about you and I feel like you care about me’.

‘No. I care about the money you make me’.

Ed gaped, at a loss for words.  
Oswald said nothing. He didn’t even look at him.  
Suddenly, Ed remembered something.  
The encounter between he and Oswald at the GCPD all those weeks ago.  
Oswald had warned Ed not to approach him.  
To protect Ed.  
To protect his mother he had kept her hidden, sheltered from his real business.  
Oswald behaved like this to protect others.

‘Something’s wrong’, Ed said, ‘What are you hiding from me?’

Ed glared as Oswald continued to avoid eye contact.

‘I’ve just been thinking and I think it’s best if we only associate within the Lounge from now on. To avoid any mixed signals’.

‘Is-is this because of that kiss?’ Ed asked, the mention of ‘mixed signal’ causing another theory to pop into his mind.

‘That didn’t mean anything’.

‘Then why did you help me?! If we aren’t friends, why help me?! Why did you kiss me first?!’

‘To protect my club and because I was drunk’.

Ed stammered before finally forcing his jaw shut.  
His heart was pounding and his blood felt like it was boiling.  
If Oswald was going to lie to him he could at least put some effort into it!  
It was insulting!

‘I thought we were friends’, Ed said in a tight voice.

‘You have low standards’, Oswald shrugged, ‘I don't’.

‘What are you saying?’

‘I’m saying I hope this won’t affect your performance at work’.

Ed felt like he was a child again faced with the cruel indifference that used to make him cry himself to sleep beneath his covers.  
The word ‘performance’ reminded him unpleasantly of the one time his father had seen him on stage despite decrying Ed’s pursuit of drama as a ‘homo hobby’.  
It had earned him a verbal then a physical beating.  
The girl who had been playing the princess had been sick with mumps on the day and her understudy was a boy. Ed and his classmate had thought nothing of it: the show was more important and they had carried on with the ‘kiss on the cheek’ that the script demanded.  
His father had not understood. He had just shut him down as he had beaten him black and blue.  
Oswald had not raised a hand against him.  
So why did his indifference hurt so much?!  
Ed gave a compulsive sob and disguised it as a scornful scoff.  
He tossed his head and shrugged. 

‘Not at all Mr Penguin’, he said, ‘I’ll make you the money you want’.

Ed flung the flowers down onto the grave.  
The sleeve of his coat slipped up and Ed saw Oswald notice the deep red marks on his wrist. Physical evidence of he and Isabella’s ‘exercise’ the night before. Ed had found it rather arousing to be restrained.

‘What happened?’ Oswald asked and reached for Ed’s wrist.

Ed snatched it out of reach, disgusted by Oswald’s dishonesty.  
If he didn’t care then why was he bothering to pretend?!

‘Don’t worry I can handle it’, Ed replied, ‘I’d hate for your investment to be damaged’.

He stormed off and Oswald forced himself to stare down at the grave.  
As he battled the desire to turn around, he felt like his neck was breaking.

 

Ed got into his car at the foot of the hill and slammed the door shut.  
He jammed his seat belt on and winced as it pulled tight and accidentally rubbed against a tender part of his shoulder.

‘Where are my flowers Ed?’

Ed jumped at the sound of Kristen’s voice and swore as he saw her reflected in the rear view mirror. She was lounging in the backseat of the car, drumming her nails on the upholstery. She was still wearing the silk dressing gown, red marks of fingers standing out on her pale neck like a fashionable necklace. She flickered like a bad projector image and Ed realised she was a hallucination.

‘I haven't upset you, have I?’ she giggled, ‘I would've thought you would've been used to seeing people in mirrors’.

‘You're just in my head’, Ed whispered harshly, rubbing his eyes.

‘Like that makes a difference’, Kristen said flippantly, ‘But honestly, besides the fact that she looks just like me, you went from someone who files papers in a police station to someone who files books in a library. Not super original’.

‘You and Isabella are…you're somewhat different’.

‘Well, I'm dead’, Kristen said sarcastically, ‘And she's alive. But how long will that last? Until you…?’  
Ed gasped as he saw Kristen reach for her own neck, mouth gaping and eyes wide as she pretended to choke.

‘I-I would never hurt Isabella!’ Ed protested.

‘Bet you would've said the same thing about me’, Kristen whispered, eyes narrowed, ‘You think you love Isabella because she reminds you of me but face it Ed. You’re a killer’.

Ed froze as he saw Oswald’s distant shape making its way down the hill. Despite his anger at his employer, he couldn’t keep the concern from his face. The hill was slippery and Oswald’s leg could-  
The hairs rose on the back of his neck as Kristen spoke again and it felt like the words were being whispered right into his ear.

‘You want a killer. You want him’.

Ed shook his head as he watched Oswald get into his limo and drive off.  
Kristen’s laughter was like a tinkling bell, a cruel edge to the notes.

‘Shame he doesn’t want you’, she purred.

Ed slammed a hand on the dashboard and grabbed his phone out of his coat pocket. He noted that Kristen, her macabre mockery finished, had vanished back into the darkness of his mind.  
Ed selected a number and dialled.  
After a single ring, the contact picked up.

‘Isabella? I know it’s short notice but would you mind bringing some more of that wonderful wine for tonight’s appointment?’

‘Of course! I would love that’.

‘Maybe you’ll tell me where you get it?’

‘That would ruin the mystery wouldn’t it?’

Ed smiled.

‘I suppose so’.

 

‘Hi Ed, you busy?’ Lee asked.

‘I'm studying decomp rate of various colors of ink to see if we can use tattoos to help determine time of death’. 

‘Is that a yes or a no?’

Ed smiled as he straightened, hiding the corpse from view to demonstrate she had his full attention.

‘How can I help you Dr Thompkins?’

'You seem happy', Lee commented. 

'Sorry', Ed said, bashful.

'No, don't apologise silly!’ Lee said, patting him on the arm, ‘It's good to see you smile'.

'Thank you’, Ed said, buoyed by Lee’s friendliness, ‘I have a lot to be happy about'.

'Someone to be happy about?'

'How did you know?'

'Woman's intuition', Lee said, winking, 'Come on, what's their name?'

'Isabella'.

'Isabella', Lee repeated.

'The name's almost as lovely as she is’, Ed gushed, oblivious to Lee’s realization, ‘It's amazing, I actually feel like I'm dreaming when we're together. She's beautiful and intelligent and loves riddles! We have so much in common it's uncanny!'

‘Maybe not so uncanny’, Lee thought as she asked aloud, 'Ed, what's Isabella's last name?'

'Why do you ask?'

'Is she blonde and works in the records office?'

'You know her'.

'We both know her sister, Kristen'.

Ed looked like he had been slapped.

'Her sister?'

'She never mentioned it to you?'

Ed shook his head, the disbelief obvious.  
Lee was concerned.  
Surely Ed, of all people had noticed the resemblance? They were identical twins!  
Or maybe, and the thought made Lee sad, perhaps Ed hadn’t wanted to see it.  
People didn’t tend to look too close at second chances.

'No. No she didn't. That's odd. Why-why wouldn't she?'

'Does she know the two of you worked together?'

'I don't really talk about...work. Corpses and homicide aren't exactly the go-to topics for dinner conversation'

'Well then that's probably why she didn't tell you’, Lee said reassuringly, ’She probably doesn't know you know Kristen’.

Ed was staring, brow furrowed in confusion.  
Lee, concerned, touched his arm again. She knew Ed sometimes slipped into periods of introspection and talked to himself but she tried to get him to focus.  
She also felt guilty for accidentally colouring Ed’s perception of his new relationship.

‘Ed? Are you alright?’

'Right as rain', Ed said in a voice that suggested anything but.

'Look, I think you and Isabella will be good for each other’, Lee said soothingly, ‘She was pretty shocked when Kristen left town without telling her. Speaking of which’.

She took the envelopes from her lab coat and showed them to Ed.  
He didn’t take them.

'What are these?’ he asked.

‘They're Kristen’s final paychecks’.

‘Her…paychecks? How'd you get these?’

‘I went to Human Resources to get her new address and they gave them to me. She never picked them up, never cashed them, never left a forwarding address’.

‘Well, Dougherty has money. Maybe they're travelling’.

‘Maybe. Have you heard from her at all?’

‘I'm strong as a rock, but a word can destroy me. What am I?’

Lee was about to consider the riddle for politeness but Ed didn’t wait for an answer.

‘Silence. I've heard nothing. Do you-do you think that something bad has happened?’

Ed’s stricken face caused Lee to immediately take a step back from her investigation.

‘No, no, no! HR probably just misplaced the address’, Lee insisted, waving the envelopes almost like evidence, ‘I just came down to see if you could save them trawling through files. Could I maybe see the card Kristen left you? In case there's some information on it we missed?’

‘I'm afraid I destroyed it’, Ed said regretfully, ‘I didn't really think of it as a keepsake’.

‘That's okay. Listen, I'm really happy for you both. It's about time we had some good news around here right?’

‘Right’, Ed said with forced brightness as Lee left, ‘Thank you’.

He waited until he could no longer hear her heels clicking on the hard corridor floor before taking his phone out.  
He tried to will his hands to stop shaking.  
How had he not seen it?!  
Of course Isabella was related to Kristen!  
His head pulsed suddenly and he felt sick as his thoughts began to race. He inhaled shakily, trying to desperately avoid another hallucination.  
How had he not seen it?!  
The thought keep pounding into his brain as he dialled Isabella’s number.  
He had seen it now.  
He had to do something.  
Before Isabella got hurt.

'Edward? What a lovely surprise' Isabella said.

'Why didn't you tell me Kristen was your sister?'

'You know Kristen?'

'She and I worked together. Until she…left’.

'Wow, that's a really weird coincidence'.

'Is it?' 

There was a slight, loaded delay before Isabella replied.

'What's that supposed to mean?' 

'You mean you had no idea that I had feelings for Kristen?'

'You did? Oh! Oh my God'.

Ed shook his head at the rising horror in Isabella’s voice.

'No, no that's not why I-I mean-'

'Are you only going out with me because I look-because she looks like me?!’ Isabella interrupted, ‘And I thought it was because of who I was as a person!'

‘Please, it's not like that’.

‘Then what's it like?! Why do people always compare us?! Kirsten and I are totally different people! It's not fair! ! I don't understand! Is it-is it me? Don’t I make you happy?!’

‘No-yes!’ Ed babbled, taken aback by the tears in Isabella’s voice, ‘Please it's not. it's just-‘

‘Then what is it?!’ she demanded, ‘What are you afraid of?! I won't leave you like she did! I promise!’

Ed, distraught at having caused Isabella such distress, resorted to the same tactic Oswald had tried to use on him.

‘I just think it's best if we don't see each other anymore’.

It worked about as well as it had with Ed.

‘If that's how you really feel then at least come say it to my face’, Isabella said stiffly, audibly yanking her emotions back under control, ‘Then again, Kristen (my own sister!) left without saying goodbye, so why should you be any different?!’

‘Isabella, I-‘

‘I’ll be waiting in the alley behind the Lounge for our appointment tonight. As usual’.

Isabella slammed the phone down.  
Ed passed a hand over his face and sighed heavily.  
He frowned, trying to banish the awful migraine that had manifested during the conversation.  
Isabella was right.  
She deserved an honest break up.

 

‘Isabella?’

Ed thought he could see her standing in the alley behind the Lounge, her silhouette leaning against a wall. Ed fiddled with his Riddler jacket, feeling awkward in it outside the Lounge.  
He moved beneath a streetlight, waiting for Isabella to step out of the darkness.

‘I’m glad you came’, she replied.

‘Yes, well, it was cowardly and dishonest to try and end this over the phone but believe me, I-I think our breaking up is for the best’.

‘No Edward. It’s not’, Isabella said gently, ‘I understand your fear. It comes from a place of love’.

Ed strained to try and see Isabella.

‘I know you won't hurt me’, she continued as she stepped into the light, ‘You never could’.

Ed thought he was hallucinating again.  
It was only when the woman took hold of his arms that he realised she was real.

‘Oh, my-Kristen!’ Ed gasped as he felt fingers caress his arm, ‘You have to-I need to leave now’.

He tried to pull away but Kristen’s fingers clamped down hard and held him in place.  
Isabella, her hair dyed red and in Kristen’s clothes, grabbed hold of his face, manicured nails digging into his cheeks.

‘Look at me. Look at me!’ she demanded.

Ed did.  
It was as if he didn’t have a choice.  
He could smell Kristen’s perfume, that beautiful, teasing scent causing his cheeks to burn and his knees feel weak.

‘You don't know what you're doing’, Ed whispered.

‘I am forcing you to face your fear. I can be whatever-whoever you need. I wanted you for myself but if she is who you want, it’s okay’.

Ed sighed as she entwined her fingers in his hair, feeling dopey and heavy in Kris-Isabella’s thrall.  
This was Kristen as Ed had never seen her before.  
Enraptured by him, desiring him.  
The sensations of her hands moving along his skin, the scent of her, her eyes on him and the dryness of his mouth swelled into a desperate longing to taste her.  
It was intoxicating.  
Overwhelming.

Ed kissed her savagely, biting at her lips and thrilled when Kristen returned the enthusiasm.  
The kiss was hot and primal as he shoved her against the wall. He grabbed her ass as Kristen wrapped her leg around him. Ed’s length grew hard and he began to grind his hips, not caring where they were or who could be watching.  
All that mattered was Kristen.  
Eventually though, they had to break for air.

Should I take the glasses off before we go inside?’ Kristen panted.

‘Keep them on’, Ed growled.

 

‘Ed!’

Ed turned at Oswald’s voice. Isabella halted beside him.  
Excusing himself, Ed left her at the foot of the stairs and went over to Oswald who was limping towards them.  
Ed expected a dressing down for using he back entrance: he had started using it at Isabella’s request. She liked privacy.

‘Why is she dressed like that?!’ Oswald hissed, eyes flicking behind Ed to Isabella.

‘She can wear what she wants’, Ed shrugged. 

‘I mean why is she dressed like your dead girlfriend?!’ Oswald clarified.

Ed laughed at Oswald’s discomfort.

‘Does it bother you?’ he teased.

‘What is wrong with you?!’ Oswald demanded, squinting as he looked into Ed’s eyes, ‘Have you been drinking?’

‘No. I don’t need to to be happy’, Ed said, rolling his eyes, ‘Is that what’s bothering you? That I'm happy without you?’

Oswald’s eyes turned cold and his jaw tightened.

‘Pick your next words very carefully Nygma’, Oswald warned but Ed wasn’t intimidated.

He felt too energised to be intimidated.  
He idly wondered if something was wrong with him before the doubt was swallowed up by his anger at Oswald’s inconsistency and resentment of his interference. 

‘If you have a problem with my guest then tell her to pick someone else. Mr Penguin’, Ed said and walked away.

He led the way up the stairs and beckoned for Kristen to follow.

 

Isabella took a step but halted as she realised Oswald was approaching.  
She waved up at Ed to go on ahead who obeyed.

‘Good evening Miss’, Oswald said cordially with a smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

‘Good evening’.

‘Just checking, are you enjoying your chosen companion? I understand you are a regular client?’

‘Yes. We just met a few weeks ago, but well, I feel I've known him my whole life’.

Oswald’s congeniality soured at the doe eyed look in Isabella’s eyes as she gazed in the direction Ed had gone.

‘How romantic. Just the kind of customer orientated experience we try to deliver. I'm so glad you appreciate Ed. He’s very popular here but you seem to have become his firm favourite. It's that swan-like neck. Ed loves a neck’.

Isabella chuckled nervously but her face dropped when Oswald continued.

‘But-uh, how shall I put this? It's over’.

‘Excuse me?’

‘He is not going to see you anymore. He’s in very high demand and I’m afraid it’s just not fair on the other patrons. Butch would be more than happy to arrange you an appointment with another one of my employees, on the house of course’.

‘I’m afraid that’s not acceptable to me’.

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘Isn’t it rather inappropriate to be so possessive towards one of your employees?’

Oswald blanched at the question.

‘I don’t think that you-‘ he began but Isabella interrupted.

‘I’ve seen the way you look at him. A lot of people have’.

‘What people?’ Oswald asked, discomfort and suspicion creeping up his spine.

‘I promise I won’t keep him long Mr Cobblepot', Isabella said blithely, 'At least, not any longer than he wants. Good evening’.

Oswald did not follow her but Isabella knew he was watching her until she turned the corner of the stairs and vanished from view.  
Isabella halted at the entrance to Room Four and looked down the hall to see a shape materialise from around the corner.  
Barbara leant against the wall expectantly.

‘Stall Penguin then call Mr Galavan’, Isabella said, ‘I’m getting what he needs right now’.

 

Edward was already on the floor when Isabella entered.  
She looked dispassionately at the spilled wine on the floor. It seemed Edward had been unable to resist a drink.  
Then again, it couldn't be helped: the mixture was highly addictive.  
Isabella sank to her knees and moved Edward into the recovery position.  
His eyes were struggling to focus as he spasmed and gasped. Isabella checked his pulse. It was frantic.  
He wouldn’t be conscious for much longer.  
It seemed the extra dose she had given Edward in the alley through her perfume combined with the wine had tipped him over the edge.  
Isabella felt only a sliver of regret.  
She had wanted to make him suffer for a while longer. She had brought nipple clamps and a cock ring for the session.  
Isabella took out her tape recorder as usual and clicked record.  
She slapped Ed across the face and nodded when he looked at her, eyes watery but wide.

‘Did you even feel bad when she was lying here?’ she asked coldly, ‘You never cared about her. Not really’.

Ed’s head lolled and Isabella reached to try and ensure he was not falling unconscious but realised he was frantically shaking his head.  
Angered by his denial, she grabbed his jaw.

‘She was just a prize to be won to you. You didn't love her! You didn't even know her! You killed her! Admit it! Admit it’.

Ed coughed and foam bubbled past his lips as he began to babble, the chemical compelling him to answer despite his disorientated state.

‘Did care…but-but you're right… didn't love you. Thought I did. I’m sorry Kristen. So sorry. It was an accident. Never wanted to hurt you. Please forgive me. Please’.

Isabella stepped back coolly from Ed’s seeking fingers as she rose.  
She knew he was telling the truth.  
Thanks to the drug, Ed physically couldn’t lie.  
But her sister was still dead.  
Ed was coughing again now and froth was pouring from the corner of his pallid lips as his eyelids flickered shut.  
Isabella shook her head in disgust at the sight.

‘I would say ask Kristen to forgive you’, Isabella whispered as she left, ‘But I think you'll be going to a very different place. Goodbye Edward’.

 

Tabitha chuckled as Isabella handed her the recording from her jacket.

With Penguin safely distracted by Butch explaining very carefully to him exactly how he had disposed of Kristen, they had time to discuss the successful completion of Isabella’s mission.  
Isabella’s dedication and scheming had taken them all by surprise but not unpleasantly so.  
As soon as Butch had explained what had happened to her sister, Isabella had been desperate for revenge.  
This had made terms very easy to work out.  
If Isabella got close to Nygma and got information Theo could use against Penguin, Theo would give her enough money to buy her own library as well as a chance for revenge.  
Her resemblance to Kristen had proven to be the perfect bait as well as ideal for combining with certain drugs in Theo’s possession.  
Nygma’s sexual desire for Kristen did the job for them, the pheromones in the perfume Isabella was wearing and mixed into the glasses of wine he was drinking clouded his judgment, making him suggestible and affecting his memory of the sessions between he and Isabella.  
The best part was that the chemical was addictive meaning Nygma craved it without even realising it. He had been putty in her hands even without the riddles and play acting and had confessed everything on tape. A little piece of information extracted every night now combined into a full account of the murder of Tom Dougherty and Kristen Kringle as well as several juicy anecdotes involving Nygma’s psychiatric appointments.  
Isabella had even managed to use the ‘interrogation sessions’ for her own gratification and to further punish Nygma by ‘getting her money’s worth’.  
She was nearly as good as Tabitha was with a whip.  
Self taught too.

‘I’m impressed’, Tabitha commented, ‘Had to admit I wasn’t sure you’d go through with this never mind add your own fun like the outfit. I always thought librarians were kind of boring’.

‘I’m efficient and I know how to control access of information. Both important parts of being a librarian’.

‘So, where’s Nygma?’

‘Physically or mentally?’

‘What do you mean?’ Tabitha asked, face falling.

‘He overdosed’, Isabella said coldly, handing Tabitha the remnants of the bottle of wine and the spritzer she had been provided with, ‘Tragedy’.

‘We told you that drug was strong and not to use it in both the perfume and the wine!’ Tabitha cried, ‘You weren’t supposed to kill Nygma! Just get the recording!’

‘He’s not dead. Yet’, Isabella shrugged, ‘I’ve been wondering though, if this stuff is so strong, why not just use it on Cobblepot directly? Have him do whatever you want’.

‘We tried. It didn’t work for some reason’.

‘I think we’ve all figured out that women don’t hold much interest for him. No accounting for taste’.

Tabitha laughed, despite her irritation at Isabella going off script.  
For a civilian, Isabella made a great mercenary.  
Cool as a cucumber.

‘You are a sweet talker aren’t you?’ Tabitha praised. ‘Go wait in the safehouse and we’ll transfer the money to you when we’re done here. Any plans after you get paid?’

‘Aside from getting out of this rotten town for good?’ Isabella asked, smiling bitterly, ‘No. Your brother's welcome to it’.

Tabitha phoned for an ambulance as Isabella left the Lounge.

 

Oswald shoved patrons out of the way as he battled his way out to the street.  
His eyes were locked on Ed’s unconscious form as the stretcher was wheeled towards a waiting ambulance but his view was suddenly eclipsed by Theo Galavan.  
Oswald reached for the hidden knife in his cane only to find his hand arrested by Butch.

‘Hold up Boss’, Butch said, ‘Mr Galavan wants to show you something’.

Oswald, out of his mind with worry, tried to pull himself free but stopped as Galavan showed him a bottle.

‘This seems to have been the cause of your employee’s misfortune’, Theo said, a smug smile on his face.

‘That perfume’, Oswald gasped, recognising the distinctive bottle.

‘Procured from an unappreciated former associate of yours’, Theo said in a low voice, ‘It may come as a surprise but cutting off people's hands or treating them like dirt are not effective management tools’.

Oswald watched with dismay as the ambulance drove away, sirens blazing even as Theo’s words slammed into his brain like coffin lids.  
He felt as if he was sinking into a pit, Theo smiling down at him from the safety of solid ground.  
He became vaguely aware that Butch was pulling him back into the Lounge, Galavan following behind.

‘We'll use the office I think', Theo said, 'Dear Sister of mine, would you please get the door?’

‘Sis-sister?’ Oswald sputtered as Tabitha held open the office door for him.

Oswald realised Tabitha and Barbara were evidently invited to this meeting as well as he was forced into the seat opposite his usual throne on the other side of the table.  
Galavan laughed at Oswald’s surprise as he lowered himself into Oswald’s chair.

‘Oh, of course. May I introduce you to my sister: Tabitha Galavan?’

Tabitha perched on one side of Oswald’s desk. Barbara on the other.  
Butch remained behind Oswald’s chair, a silent threat blocking the door.

‘The pleasure’s all mine’, Tabitha said, smirking, ‘Especially since now I get to finally tell you: you’re not the King of Gotham. You’re the King of garbage’.

‘My sister is too blunt but she is honest’, Theo shrugged, ‘The foundations of this great city were laid very dedicated people. Now it's an old crumbling pigsty, full of human waste. It's time to move into the future’.

‘A cleaner, brighter future!’ Barbara chimed in, flicking a piece of imaginary dust off the desk.

‘Here's the rub', Theo said, 'In order to rebuild, I need first to destroy, but I can't do that. You have a certain flair for such a task. You, Penguin you will be my destroyer’.

Oswald, enraged but recognising the fact he was outnumbered, satisfied himself with a mocking laugh.

‘Truly, I'm flattered’, he said snidely, ‘But you’ve given me no reason to help you. You’re not mayor yet’.

Oswald gained some gratification as Theo scowled.

‘Yes and unfortunately some of my fellow candidates actually stand a chance of winning, so they'll have to go’.

Oswald scoffed.

‘Go?’

‘And I'm gonna need you to take a crack at me also. And miss, of course. Don't want anyone to think that I had anything to do with my fellow candidates' demise’.

Oswald gripped the arms of his chair and squeezed them, pretending they were Galavan’s eyeballs.

‘You tried to kill Ed because you want to be mayor?’ Oswald growled.

‘No’, Theo said, holding up a hand, ‘Our agent went too far. We already have everything we need’.

Tabitha held up a tape recorder and clicked play.  
For several horrific minutes, Oswald listened to Ed’s voice, slurred yet audible as he confessed his involvement to Dougherty and Kringle’s murders.  
Tabitha, after letting him hear a sizeable damning portion, clicked the stop button with a flourish.

‘Everything’, Oswald repeated numbly, sinking further into his chair.

The confession would send Ed straight to Arkham, especially with his psychiatric history.  
Oswald had been to Arkham.  
It would eat Ed alive.  
If he didn’t kill himself first.  
Oswald could not, would not, let that happen.  
In trying to push Ed away, he had unwittingly given Theo Galavan rope to hang them both.  
It was his fault.

‘Nygma didn’t give it willingly you’ll be pleased to hear’, Theo said with false sympathy, ‘He needed some persuasion but all the pieces now fall together into quite the pretty picture’.

Theo leant forward, fingers steepled, to all outward appearances, a reasonable businessman or sympathetic ear.  
Oswald hated his guts.

‘Such a shame you couldn't inspire the same kind of loyalty in your other members of staff’, Theo mused, oblivious to (or all too aware of) Oswald’s fury, ‘Agree to help me with my little pet project and I’ll make sure you keep him. Refuse and how do you think a former GCPD employee will do in Arkham? Especially one who murdered a fellow GCPD employee?’

 

Penguin got back into the car, the remains of Isabella’s severed brake lines clutched in his leather gloved hand.  
Butch took the cutters from him and stowed them back in the glove compartment.

‘Kinda impersonal ain’t it?’ Butch asked.

Penguin did not reply, just watched the safehouse hungrily.  
They were seated in a non-descript car in a darkened alley opposite the brownstone building, engine turned off.  
Theo had offered Penguin the sacrament of revenge as a symbolic gesture to ‘sweeten the deal’ but Butch knew it was more of a way to punish Isabella for going against orders and to remove a loose end that was no longer useful.  
Penguin didn’t seem to care why he had been given the information. He had been silent the entire drive over save for a request for something to cut Isabella’s brakes once they had parked.  
Butch had been taken aback by the simplicity of the method Penguin had selected to eliminate Isabella but had complied. It was hardly foolproof. Lots of people walked away from car accidents.  
He theorised maybe Penguin was still in shellshock over Galavan’s successful coup. He hadn’t raged or threatened as Butch had expected him to.  
He had seemed so resigned and beaten that Butch had actually felt a stab of sympathy.  
Until they had gotten into the car and his wrist had pulsed achingly.  
Then the sympathy had vanished.  
Penguin should have seen it coming.  
When a mob boss didn’t, it was time for a change in management.

Realising Penguin was still in no mood to talk, Butch made the call, signalling to Isabella that the money had been transferred and it was safe to leave the safehouse.  
A few seconds later, he watched as Isabella, still dressed as Nygma’s first squeeze, made her way hastily to her car, throwing a suitcase into the trunk before clambering into the front seat.  
The car started and began to roll downhill.  
That was when Butch saw them.  
Train tracks.  
The signals at the tracks at the foot of the hill began to blink warningly, the barrier lowering like a guillotine.  
Isabella’s car did not slow down, simple physics instead spurring it onwards to destruction.  
Butch squirmed in his seat, the inevitability and the victim’s utter absence of control making him uncomfortable despite his years in the mob.  
This kind of death was clinical.  
Exact.  
Penguin had really thought about this one after all.  
After what seemed like an age, even though Butch knew it had been seconds, the inevitable happened.  
There were a few, brief, barely audible screams then the awful blaring noise of the train whistle and an ungodly metallic screech as it impacted Isabella’s speeding car. Glass scattered across the asphalt and one solitary wheel rolled away like a tumbleweed before collapsing over dolefully.  
Butch’s eyes darted from the smouldering wreck to Penguin’s face.  
He was smiling calmly, his pale eyes reflecting the harsh light of the streetlights above.

‘You can take me to the hospital now’, he commanded in a dispassionate voice.

Butch, subdued by the matter of fact way Penguin had just dispatched Isabella, didn’t argue.

 

Ed was surprised to see Oswald sitting by his bedside when he awoke but in the same moment realised the hospital probably had nobody else to call.  
It wasn’t as if Ed had any friends or family.

‘What…what happened?’ Ed asked hoarsely, trying to rise.

His head felt heavy and he was dismayed to realise he remembered very little after taking a sip of the wine in the room. His hands were shaky, his mouth was dry and his shoulder ached. He vaguely remembered hitting it against the bed as he had fallen to the floor.

‘You were drugged’, Oswald explained.

‘Isab-Isabella, is she alright? She…she may have drank-’

‘Isabelle is dead. Fell asleep behind the wheel driving under the influence. She didn’t suffer’.

Ed visibly sank back, grief in his eyes at Oswald’s terse explanation of the situation. Oswald watched with sad resignation yet conviction as Ed’s eyes grew dark and cold as he stared hard at Oswald.

‘I don’t believe you. She was an innocent woman and you killed her. For what?! Jealousy?!’

‘When you’re discharged, I expect to see you back at work’.

‘You can’t expect me to work in that place-‘

‘I expect you to do everything I tell you!’ Oswald snapped.

There was a ringing silence.

‘If not, perhaps I’ll tell certain people other things’, Oswald said in a low voice, cold eyes locked on Ed, ‘Arkham is not a friendly place. Especially for multiple murderers and cop killers’.

Ed glared at him, any trace of the friendly, riddle loving scientist hidden behind a cold veneer of poisonous hatred and resentment.

‘Leave’, Ed said venomously, turning his back on Oswald.

Oswald obeyed.

 

Theo applauded Oswald softly as he exited Ed’s room.

‘Bravo. If I didn’t know better, you could have almost fooled me into thinking you don’t care. If you take all my directions this well, making me mayor will be no challenge’.

‘Why not just let me fire him? Pettiness is an unattractive trait in a politician. You’ve gotten what you wanted’.

‘Maybe not everything I wanted’, Theo said, looking suggestively in at Ed, ‘I must say: you have exquisite taste in men. And I have plenty of other traits he may find appealing’.

Oswald watched Theo walk away, tears of thwarted rage raining down his cheeks as he felt as if his hands would break from being curled into such tight fists.  
He walked in the opposite direction to hide his feelings from prying eyes even as the memory of the look in Ed’s stabbed him like a knife.  
Oswald took a deep breath, held his head high with great effort and wiped his eyes.  
How he felt didn’t matter.  
Oswald was used to pain.  
Pain meant you were alive and the endurance of this pain meant Ed was safe.  
If this was what it took to keep Ed that way, Oswald could take it.


	9. The Storm Breaks

‘Excuse me, you can't go in there!’

Oswald ignored the cries of Janice Caulfield’s aide as he closed the door behind him, counting on Butch to handle crowd control.  
Janice Caulfield looked up as he approached. He admired how she tried to hide her fear at his presence. She was a Gothamite through and through: she knew what was about to happen. Idealistic politicians like her tended to have short life expectancies.

‘Miss Caulfield, what a pleasure’, Oswald said, ‘Allow me to introduce myself’.

‘I can see what you are’, Caulfield said quietly, ‘How did you get in?’

Oswald held up a hand.

‘I know it's late but I'm afraid there's no time for delay’.

‘Someone tried to kill Theo Galavan this morning’, Caulfield said, still dignified, ‘Are you here to kill me?’

‘Actually, yes’.

At Oswald’s blunt affirmation, Caulfield’s composure finally began to waver.

‘Please, no’, she whispered, tears gathering in her eyes, ‘I'm a mother’.

Oswald fought down the bile in his throat as he grabbed her. Her fearful gasp was worse than a scream. Her eyes widened at the knife in his hand and Oswald saw his defeated expression reflected in their surfaces. His fingers tightened as he prepared himself.  
He’d never had a problem with killing before.  
But all his previous victims had deserved it.

‘I have someone I love too’, he replied, hating the waver in his voice and stabbed hard.

Butch felt Caulfield’s two aides jump at the muffled screaming coming from Caulfield’s office, his hands resting on one shoulder each. The pressure was a subtle threat not to interfere with he and Penguin’s mission and he was glad that the aides had been cooperative so far.

‘Steady now, folks’, Butch said reassuringly, ‘Just think of blue skies and cornfields. That's what I do’.

‘Why are you doing this?’ one aide asked, trembling, eyes locked on the office door.

Before Butch could answer, the screaming stopped.  
Penguin came out of the office, tucking something away in his pocket. Like Butch, the lower part of his face was obscured by a scarf.  
He brushed past Butch and the aides without a word, heading straight for the stairs.

‘Well, we're away then’, Butch said, patting the aides’ shoulders reassuringly, ‘Sorry to ruin your evening’.

As Butch made to leave, he waved a file he had picked up earlier meaningfully at them.

‘Now, remember, I got your names and addresses. So think about your families and keep mum, huh?’ 

**

Ed smiled as the audience gasped as he swung around the pole by one arm and flung his hat away.  
Despite the fact that his friendship with Oswald was now in tatters and Oswald had made it clear Ed couldn’t quit without punishment, Ed still loved the work. He didn’t offer himself for private sessions anymore. The memory was too painful but what had surprised Ed was that the loss of Oswald as a friend bothered him more than Isabella’s untimely death. Was it because he had already lost Kristen so he was in a way ‘used to’ the pain? It also bothered Ed that, apart from warm fuzzy feelings and happiness, he could not recall a clear memory with Isabella. She had always brought superb wine though so perhaps Ed had simply overindulged? It would be out of character but then again Oswald had been acting out of character too. Or had he just always been like that and Ed hadn’t noticed?  
Ed spun around on the pole once more and tried to enjoy basking in the crowd’s adoration.  
Apart from this disconnect, Ed was so popular now that working a single person just didn’t make economic sense.  
The audience loved the Riddler.  
But Oswald never watched him dance anymore.

As he heard Butch’s telltale guffaw of laughter, Ed’s eyes narrowed.  
There had been an intriguing development in the last few nights.  
Dropping to his knees and shrugging off his jacket, Ed glanced at the corner booth. Butch was sitting with Theo Galavan and some more of Galavan’s cronies. Ed had not been able to figure out why Oswald was suddenly extending Galavan every hospitality. 

As Ed rose, spun on his heel and began to undo his tie, he caught sight of the television above the bar. It was set to a news station and even though there was no sound, Ed could see the story was about the attack on Theo Galavan the previous morning. Ed watched the footage play, his body automatically performing his well-rehearsed routine even as he focused his attention on the screen.  
Galavan certainly wasn’t acting like someone who had just had been the target of a drive by shooting. Ed had expected someone like that (if they hadn’t left town) to be cowering in a safehouse somewhere. Not out on the town enjoying themselves.  
Ed analysed the footage. Galavan standing with a crowd of reporters in front of City Hall. A sudden noise, Galavan ducked, a car, guns out of the window, sudden noise and chaos, a shaky shot of the car speeding away.  
Ed dangled his tie and flicked it like a whip as he replayed the footage in his head.  
He felt strangely disquieted the more he thought about it.  
Something about how Galavan moved.  
As Ed cast his shirt into the crowd, the realization hit him like a lightning bolt. It wasn’t about how he moved. What was odd was _when_ he moved!  
As if on cue, Galavan laughed loudly at an unheard joke Butch had told him and gestured for another round of drinks. Ed hadn’t seen him pay for a single beverage all night.  
The pieces of the puzzle clicked into place and Ed didn’t like the picture they formed.

**

‘You killed Caulfield. We have a witness. And the attempt on Galavan was that you, too?’

Ed froze at the all too familiar voice coming from Oswald’s office. What was Jim Gordon doing here?!

‘Not now’, Oswald’s voice said dismissively.

Ed leant against the wall, trying to look inconspicuous despite his vibrant green suit, straining to listen at the conversation.

‘And Hobbs?’ Gordon continued, ‘You sent Zsasz there?’

‘It's complicated, okay?’

‘What does it profit you to mess with the election? You have your own sordid empire to rule over’.

‘Walk away, Jim’, Oswald said, voice low and dangerous, ‘Let me be’.

‘If we find out you're behind these attacks, we will come after you with every – ‘

‘Rousing speech!’ Oswald suddenly exclaimed.

Ed heard a thump and the scraping of a chair. He realised Oswald had gotten to his feet in defiance.

‘Really!’ Oswald continued, ‘Goosebumps. But you came here alone, Jim, with no warrant, no cuffs, no backup and why? Because you would hate for your new captain to find out about how you gunned down Ogden Barker in cold blood. Over a debt’.

Oswald laughed harshly.

‘A debt to me’, he added.

‘He was trying to kill me’, Gordon countered in a terse, guilty tone.

‘Where are your witnesses?’ Oswald demanded, ‘And just that day before, I suppose you did not ask me to run Commissioner Loeb out of town so that you could get your old job back? I'll face whatever's coming to me. Goodbye, Jim’.

Ed hastily ducked around the corner as he heard Gordon’s heavy tread approaching. Once he was certain the noise of the detective’s footsteps was lessening, he peeked back around the corner. Gordon was out of sight so Ed walked to Oswald’s office door and entered without knocking.

‘What are you doing?’ Ed asked.

He saw Oswald stiffen and heard a barely perceptible sigh as Oswald turned to face him.

‘Trying to do the accounts without any further interruptions’, Oswald groused, gesturing at paper on the table, ‘Is there a problem Mr Nygma?’

‘Is it true?’ Ed asked, taking care to close the door behind him, ‘Are you the one murdering the candidates?’

‘Eavesdropping is getting to be an ugly habit of yours’, Oswald said, sitting back down at his desk, ‘Get back to work’.

Ed shook his head in disbelief as Oswald feigned interest in the files.

‘Why are you risking everything?!’ Ed asked, ‘And, why is Galavan sitting out there getting drinks on the house? I thought he would’ve been first on your list’.

‘Mr Galavan has been through a stressful ordeal and is running for office’, Oswald said in a forced, diplomatic tone, ‘It makes sense to be on his good side’.

‘Oh yes, he’s now running unopposed as a matter of fact’, Ed said, crossing his arms, ‘Though I suppose you don’t pay much attention to politics?’

That did the trick. Oswald lowered the files and scowled at Ed.

‘I don’t like your tone’, Oswald growled.

Ed slammed his hands on the desktop and leant in close. Oswald blinked in surprise at the sudden movement.

‘He has something on you, doesn’t he?’ Ed asked, ‘That’s why you’re doing his dirty work’.

‘That’s not-that’s ridiculous’.

‘Is it?!’ Ed asked indignantly, annoyed by Oswald’s continuing, unconvincing dishonesty.

Ed straightened, feeling like a detective in the parlour scene in a mystery novel. Oswald would not be allowed to wriggle out of this. 

‘Funny how when you re-watch the news footage of Galavan being targeted, you can see he ducks a split second before everyone else saw that car full of mobsters. He told you to target him first to make him seem above suspicion, didn’t he?! It doesn’t take a genius to figure that out!’ 

‘Last warning Nygma’, Oswald said, rising from his chair again, ‘Get. Back. To. Work’.

‘Fine. If you won’t tell me, I’ll find out for myself’.

‘I hope I’m not interrupting?’ asked a voice.

Galavan entered the room and pretended to knock on the door.

‘Knock, knock. Oswald, we need to talk’.

‘Yes Mr Galavan’, Oswald said through gritted teeth then glared at Ed, ‘Mr Nygma was just leaving’.

‘Your dancing was wonderful Riddler’, Galavan commented as Ed passed, ‘I’ll see you at our private session later. And I’d like you to wear this scent please’.

Oswald made a sudden noise of protest but a quick glance from Galvan silenced him.  
Ed shook his head at the bottle Galavan offered.

‘I’m sorry Mr Galavan but I’m already booked for the night’, Ed lied.

‘Somehow, I don’t think it will be a problem. Will it, Oswald?’

Ed looked at Oswald, waiting for him to advise that in fact there would be a problem but Oswald just shrugged, eyes boring into the files in front of him. Ed’s jaw tightened at the lack of reply as he accepted the bottle of cologne from Galavane.

‘Don’t worry Mr Galavan’, Ed promised, ‘I’m not going anywhere’.

**

An hour later, Ed was summoned upstairs for his appointment with Galavan.  
He was already wearing the scent Galavan had requested. He had taken the precaution of lending it to Jervis before his set and watched him for any ill effects but nothing had happened. If anything, the cologne had actually helped Jervis’ performance: his tips had been enormous.

Ed gave his customary knock and heard Galavan call out ‘Come in’.  
Ed opened the door was surprised to find Galavan was not alone. Galavan was reclining on the armchair whereas Oswald was sitting on the bed.

‘Don’t worry Riddler’, Galavan said easily, ‘This session is for Oswald. It’s on me’.

Ed nodded and waited for instructions. He tried not to look at Oswald. Ed’s nose wrinkled as he realised he could smell a different cologne in the air. The scent was familiar but he couldn’t place it. He was startled to feel Oswald’s eyes on him but couldn’t identify the look on his face.  
He seemed almost half asleep but his gaze was too focused for that.  
It was almost as if he were drugged.

‘How about another dance to begin with?’ Galavan suggested, ‘I’ll tell you what to do as we go’.

His cheery tone of voice was one Ed was used to hearing. It was employed by bullies just about to inflict some kind of humiliation on a victim.  
Ed acquiesced, wary of Galavan’s smugness and Oswald’s subdued demeanour but also aware he needed more information about what exactly was going on before doing anything drastic.  
Galavan clicked the record player and the music began to play.

_I need a gangsta_  
_To love me better_  
_Than all the others do…_

It was the same song Ed had used for his routine earlier that night. 

‘You don’t need to strip’, Galavan said as Ed began to dance, ‘But I would like you to sing along. Oswald says you have a lovely voice’.

‘I’m fucked up, I’m black and blue’, Ed sang obediently, ‘I’m built for all the abuse. I got secrets that nobody, nobody knows’.

‘Get closer’, Galavan said but as Ed began to move towards him, he shook his head.

‘To Oswald’, he clarified.

Ed kept singing, trying to power his way through the song, trying to ignore how Galavan’s presence was making his skin crawl.

_I need a gangsta_  
_To love me better_  
_Than all the others do_

Ed halted in front of the seated Oswald and languidly placed his hands on his shoulders.

_To always forgive me_  
_Ride or die with me_  
_That's just what gangsters do_

‘Straddle him’, Galavan said.

Ed stopped dead only to feel a gentle pressure on his gloved hand. Oswald had placed his hand over Ed's.

‘Just…do what he says Ed’, Oswald whispered, ‘There’s no point fighting. Not anymore’.

Despite all the trouble between them, Ed couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy at the hopelessness in Oswald’s demeanour. Fine. They would get this over with. At least they knew each other: it wasn’t happening with a stranger. Ed got into position slowly, careful to keep the weight off Oswald’s knee. Ed felt Oswald’s hands drift to his rear, holding him in place. Ed shifted to ensure they were both comfortable and was surprised that the feeling of Oswald’s hands on his ass was reassuring rather than disconcerting.  
It felt right somehow.

‘Keep singing’, Galavan said with the slightest hint of impatience as he poured himself another glass of wine.

Ed continued to sing as his eyes met Oswald’s. He saw Oswald’s cheeks colour under his scrutiny, pink beneath his pale green eyes. His pupils were dilated and Ed could see himself singing in the pitch black pools.

_My freakness is on the loose_  
_And running, all over you_  
_Please take me to places, that nobody, nobody knows_

‘You do sing beautifully’, Oswald said under his breath.

Ed’s mouth opened and closed. He didn’t know what to say. He inhaled deeply to calm his heartrate and got a deep breath of the cologne Oswald was wearing.  
Despite the way it made his head spin pleasantly, Ed recognised it.  
It smelt like Isabella’s perfume.

‘Kiss him’.

Galavan’s command was barely above a whisper but Ed heard every word.

Oswald took Ed’s head gently in his hands. Ed shuddered as Oswald’s fingertips caressed him.  
Ed did not resist. He knew he should. That Galavan had some plan to humiliate him or Oswald or both or just wanted some kind of perverse voyeuristic amusement.  
But the way Oswald was looking at him…  
Before he knew it, their lips had made contact.  
Oswald moaned and Ed melted into the soft warmth of the kiss. One of Oswald’s hands trailed to the back of Ed’s neck and Ed felt his own hands automatically take hold of Oswald’s face. His fingertips ruffled Oswald’s feathery hair and Ed felt Oswald’s lips curl into a smile. Oswald tasted of mint and kissed gently, the tips of his teeth gently nipping Ed’s lips. Ed loved it.  
He-he loved-

A slow clap broke through the warm haze of the kiss and Ed drew away immediately. Oswald’s eyes were wide, his expression one of dismay. Ed got to his feet stiffly and folded his arms. He forced his face into one of annoyance, ignoring the swiftly fading warmth of the kiss. The music died away.

‘You seem to be enjoying yourself’, Galavan smirked, rubbing his hands together as he finished clapping, ‘Quite the performance’.

‘Why is Penguin even here Mr Galavan?’ Ed asked in a carefully emotionless tone, ‘I thought _you_ wanted the private dance?’

Galavan pretended to examine his wine glass.

‘Do you want to tell Ed what you did to Isabella, Oswald?’

‘No’, Oswald said in a small voice, ‘Please’.

‘What did you do to her?’ Ed asked, pulse pounding. 

‘I cut her brakes', Oswald confessed, almost choking on the words as he fought to keep them back, 'I killed her’.

‘How did you feel?’ Galavan asked, his cruel delight at Oswald’s helplessness obvious and grotesque. 

‘Happy’, Oswald growled.

Ed saw Oswald’s knuckles whiten as they gripped the bedspread.

‘Would you do it again?’ Galavan asked.

‘In a heartbeat’.

‘Why did you do it?’ Ed asked quietly.

Oswald made to answer but Galavan interrupted.

‘He wanted you all to himself. Because he loves you’.

Oswald gave a wordless cry and flinched as if Galavan had struck him. He slumped over, shoulders shaking.  
Ed felt as if he was standing in the eye of the storm: a torrent of emotions whirling around him but feeling impossibly empty somehow in the face of Oswald’s revelation.

‘That’s not possible’, Ed said numbly.

‘Oswald, do you love Edward?’ Galavan asked with sickening frankness.

Oswald shook his head violently, his teeth clenched in a clear show of defiance.

‘Answer the question’, Ed said in a hard voice.

He needed to hear it from Oswald.  
The simple command seemed to break Oswald’s tenuous grasp on his self-control. Tears fell from his eyes as he stared helplessly up at Ed.

‘I did it because I love you’, he cried, ‘You should know that. I-I should have told you. I just wanted to keep you safe’.

Ed took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes.  
He knew what he needed to do.

‘By killing the woman I loved?’ he sneered at Oswald as he replaced his glasses.

Oswald blanched as Ed rounded on him.

‘I could have lived a life with her!’ Ed shouted, ‘I could have been happy’.

Oswald blinked, widened eyes glistening.

‘I guess we’ll never know now, will we?’ Galavan said, shaking his head mockingly, ‘Edward, do you love Oswald?’

Galavan’s mockery rankled Ed. He was like one of those ghastly daytime talk show hosts prodding their guests into a reaction. But if that was what Galavan wanted, Ed would give him one.

‘What?!’ Ed cried, ‘No!’ 

He physically stepped back from Oswald as if to underscore his rant.

‘How could anybody ever love someone like you?!’ Ed snapped at Oswald, ‘You don’t even know what love is! Love is about sacrifice! It’s about putting someone else’s needs and happiness before your own. You and I both know Oswald, you would sacrifice anyone to save your own neck. Even me’.

Turning away in disgust, Ed grabbed the half empty bottle of wine on the table and took a long series of gulps. It did little to quiet the churning in his stomach.

‘Such harsh words’, Galavan said, voice dripping in false sympathy.

Ed laughed and shook his head.

‘What’s so funny?’ Galavan asked, brow slightly furrowed.

‘Mr Galavan, forgive me’, Ed said, holding up his clasped hands in apology, ‘But what’s the point of this little drama? I’m sorry if you were expecting a different answer but Penguin means nothing to me’.

‘Are you sure?’ Galavan pressed, ‘By all accounts, you seemed quite friendly. And you also seemed to be enjoying yourself just now’.

‘Yes, that was the idea’, Ed said, rolling his eyes, ‘I’m a professional Mr Galavan but I’m done pretending. After all, Penguin’s not in charge here anymore. Is he?’

‘Very perceptive of you’, Galavan said, rising from the armchair, ‘You’ll forgive me however if I’m sceptical about your disinterest in his welfare’.

‘If you want, I’ll prove it’, Ed offered.

‘Really?’ Galavan asked, raising an eyebrow, ‘Alright then. Fortunately, it seems I no longer have a use for Penguin. I was going to dispose of him quietly but it seems so…impersonal doesn’t it?’

Ed glanced at Oswald. He had his head in his hands. Ed pretended not to hear the quiet sobs or see the violent shaking of Oswald’s body as he struggled to contain his heartache.

‘Can I choose the place?’ Ed asked unfeelingly.

‘Of course’, Galavan said magnanimously, reaching into his jacket.

Ed watched as Galavan slid the pistol across the table top.

‘But I choose how’, Galavan concluded, ‘And when’.

Ed picked up the gun and tested the weight. He couldn’t tell if it was loaded or not.

‘Why wait?’ Ed asked coldly.

**

‘Ed, I love you. I know you believe that now’.

Ed felt cold rainwater dribbling down his neck. He tried to focus on it instead of Oswald’s continued pleading. They were at the docks: a place that guaranteed privacy and a lack of surveillance. Galavan was waiting by his car a few yards behind them, just within earshot. Ed’s request for privacy had not been granted without condition.

‘So, you need to listen to me when I tell you by doing this it will change you’, Oswald said.

‘I've killed before, Oswald’, Ed said aloofly, ‘You know that’.

‘Not like this’, Oswald insisted, ‘This won't be a crime of passion or self-preservation. This will be the cold-blooded murder of someone you love’.

‘I. Don't. Love. You’.

Oswald reached for Ed with a shaking hand but Ed slapped it away immediately. 

‘I loved Isabella’, Ed said.

‘Isabella tried to kill you on Galavan’s orders!’ Oswald cried, eyes red rimmed and voice hoarse, ‘You have to believe me! You’re-you’re not thinking straight because of that per-’

‘You can't talk your way out of this Oswald!' Ed snapped, ‘I want you to suffer as I've suffered. You killed her, so _you_ die’.

Ed watched as Oswald’s sadness began to morph into sheer, frustrated fury.

‘When I met you, you were a nervous, jittery loser’, Oswald raged, ‘You were nothing. I created Edward Nygma! And I am the only one in the world who truly sees you as you are! Who you can still become. I did everything I did to protect you!’

Ed did not reply. He was memorising Oswald’s speech.

‘Ed? Ed, are you listening to me?!’ Oswald asked.

The gun felt heavy in Ed’s hand. Galavan had loaded it for him before Ed had walked Oswald to the end of the pier. Galavan had a gun and the two thugs he had with him in his car had guns.

‘I'm listening’, Ed replied.

‘Say something’, Oswald pleaded.

Ed met Oswald’s eyes. Heartache bled from them like poison from an open wound.

‘I loved her Oswald’, Ed said simply, almost offhandedly, ‘And you killed her’.

Ed pulled the trigger.

**

Galavan smiled as the gunshot rang out across the bay followed by a sizeable splash. He stomped out his cigarette and waited patiently. At the end of the pier, he saw Ed tuck the gun back inside his coat as he began to walk back towards Galavan.  
Ed leant against his own car, opposite Galavan and sighed, tilting his head back.

‘It’s done then?’Galavan asked.

‘Yes’, Ed said dispassionately, flicking a piece of dust off his shoulder, ‘It won’t bring her back but it’s done’.

‘I’m impressed. No tears at all for your former benefactor?’

‘Guilt is a useless emotion’, Ed said, a slow smile creeping over his face, ‘Besides, I think I’ve traded up, don’t you?’

Galavan chuckled at the pragmatic ambition in Ed’s smirk as well as the way Ed’s index finger was tracing along his tie.  
Galavan took hold of Ed’s hand gently and drew him closer.

‘There was one thing Penguin was right about’, Galavan said, using his other hand to move some rain slicked hair from Ed’s brow.

‘What’s that?’ Ed purred, leaning into his touch.

Galavan’s hand trailed down the side of Ed’s face and raised his chin up.

‘You _are_ interesting’, Galavan said appraisingly, intrigued and aroused by Ed’s responsiveness to his touch.

What Ed said next made Galavan’s heart flutter.

‘If you like, I can show you just how interesting I can be?’

Galavan waved a finger in mock chastisement even as he felt the warmth of Ed’s body sidling up to him. Whilst he would have liked nothing more than to claim the object of Penguin’s affection for himself, he knew there was still business to be done. He would have all the time in the world for pleasure later. By the looks of Nygma’s half hooded eyes and blushing cheeks, he would be glad to accommodate him. Even without the mind altering cologne.

‘Tempting Riddler. Very tempting. Unfortunately, right now I think we had best both work on procuring our alibis for tonight. I'll leave first. You wait a few minutes then leave yourself’.

‘Of course, you’re right. I’m sorry. I just find this all so…exciting’.

‘Likewise. Looking forward to continuing this ‘conversation’ at my Lounge, Ed’.

On a whim, he leant in and kissed Ed on the cheek. He inhaled deeply, enjoying the way his scent rose from Ed’s skin. Ed gave a soft chuckle and touched his cheek bashfully as Galavan got back into his car.

‘Likewise’, Ed said, eyes cold despite his smile.


	10. Coping Strategies

‘You should’ve shot me in the head’, a voice in the darkness whispered.

Ed opened his eyes (he hadn’t been asleep anyway) but kept perfectly still. He could feel the cold edge of the knife against his throat exposed above the blanket. He could sense Oswald standing at the head of the couch out of sight and could smell the chemicals emanating from the dressing on his shoulder. The scent of fresh blood was barely detectable beneath the bitter, medicinal smell.

‘Odd that I didn’t isn’t it?’ Ed said calmly, ‘Also odd that you woke me up instead of just killing me’.

‘You looked me in the eye when you tried to kill me’, Oswald snarled, ‘I thought you deserved the same treatment’.

‘To do that, I’ll have to sit up’, Ed said.

He felt the knife edge withdraw but Oswald did not move otherwise. Ed sat up and put on his glasses that had been resting on the coffee table. His eyes, now well adjusted to the dim light from the streetlight outside emanating into his apartment, quickly found Oswald.  
Oswald was pallid and streaks of sweat visibly plastered his black hair to his forehead. One hand was clenched on the sofa where Ed had been sleeping and the other gripped one of Ed’s steak knives. He was dressed in a pair of Ed’s pyjama pants, oversized on his smaller frame, and Ed’s dressing gown draped over his shoulders hung open, exposing bloodied gauze on his left shoulder. Oswald was noticeably swaying on his feet and breathing heavily, the effort of standing an obvious exertion.  
Ed was impressed. He had expected Oswald to be under for at least twenty four hours after treatment and yet he was conscious again after only five. Ed knew part of it was due to the heady cocktail of painkillers he had imbued Oswald with but he was truly impressed with Oswald’s willpower. 

‘I’m a forensic scientist Oswald’, Ed said, fluffing his pillow, ‘I know how to kill people and how not to kill them. We both know you’re in no condition to try the former’.

As if to prove Ed wrong (but far more likely for his own comfort), Oswald closed the distance and sat down on the couch beside Ed, knife raised in a trembling hand.

‘Why shoot me at all?!’

‘I didn't want to but Galavan was watching my every move’, Ed said, making sure to speak slowly, ‘He had to see your shock was genuine and that perfume he dosed you with was strong stuff. It took a lot for me to shake it off so I assumed a similar shock to your system would be necessary’.

At the mention of the perfume, Oswald’s demeanour instantly deflated from barely restrained fury to abject embarrassment and shock.

‘I’m-I’m leaving’, Oswald said in a shaky voice and prepared to rise.

‘I don’t think so’, Ed said sternly.

‘You can’t stop m-‘

‘A forensic scientist also knows how to do this’, Ed interrupted and jabbed the syringe he had taken from beneath his pillow into Oswald’s neck.

Ed pressed hard and the sedative was unleashed into Oswald’s bloodstream. Oswald’s body, already weakened by the trauma of the gunshot embraced the pleasant haze and Ed acknowledged the metallic noise of the knife hitting the floor harmlessly. Only when he had checked Oswald’s pulse and deemed it calm and slow enough to indicate deep sleep did Ed carry him back to bed.

**

Thanks to the stronger sedative, Oswald didn’t awake again until nearly a full day had passed.  
He struggled into a sitting position as Ed approached the bed, a glass of water on a tray beside a bowl of soup.

‘You drugged me’, Oswald said, voice rough and eyes reddened from sleep.

‘Yes’.

‘You. Drugged. Me’.

‘And shot you’, Ed said, ‘I’m sorry but both were for your own benefit’.

Oswald dropped the argument and for the first time seemed to notice his state of dress.

‘Where are my clothes?’

‘I threw them away. The water ruined them’, Ed explained,’ Don’t worry mine got ruined too when I jumped in after you and-where do you think you’re going now?’

Oswald rose from the bed, circling Ed so as not to turn his back on him. Ed pivoted bemusedly, mirroring Oswald’s movements, tray still in hand.

‘You sedate me again’, Oswald warned, ’And I swear, I will-‘

‘Oswald’, Ed said officiously, annoyed and begrudgingly amused with his continued resistance, ‘You can try and run but with your condition, you'll get about three blocks. I brought you here to recover and that is what is going to happen. Now, drink up. It's just water’.

Oswald ignored the offer.

‘If you're planning on killing me, could you get on with it?’ he grunted, wincing as he touched his shoulder experimentally, ‘At this point, it would come as a welcome relief’.

‘It should be obvious that, despite what I said at the pier, I have no ill intentions toward you’.

‘Then what are your intentions?’

‘The same as yours’, Ed said, ‘Revenge’.

‘R-revenge?’

Oswald gave a sour chuckle that degenerated into a series of hoarse coughs. Despite his pride, he was forced to accept the glass of water from Ed to soothe his throat and stop his convulsions paining his shoulder. Gradually they subsided and Oswald stared out of the window, eyes moist.

‘I’m tired Ed’, Oswald said wearily, ‘Galavan took everything from me and left my empire in ruins. He made me do and-and say things against my will as he ruined my life and all it got me was a metaphorical knife in my back and a literal bullet in my shoulder’.

He sniffed loudly and plastered a brittle smile on his face.

‘So, wounded or not, I am leaving’.

Oswald managed a single step before collapsing, insensate, onto the floor.

‘Oh my’, Ed sighed, shaking his head.

He would have to try a different approach.

 

**

_‘The fire has gone out, wet from snow above. But nothing will warm me more than my, my mother's love. I light another candle to dry the tears from my face-‘_

‘Why are you playing that song?’

Ed stopped singing along with the recording and turned down the volume, leaving it just loud enough to be audible. Like ambient noise.  
He turned in his seat to see Oswald was awake again and was glad to see he seemed less feverish and shaky. He was more subdued and there was some colour in his cheeks.

‘I can bring tears to your eyes and resurrect the dead’, Ed pronounced, ‘I form in an instant and last a lifetime. What am I?’

‘A memory. So what?’

‘Your mother liked this song’.

Oswald made an abrupt noise as if about to launch into a tirade but nothing else came out of his mouth. Instead, he sighed heavily and pulled the blanket around himself. Ed let him compose himself.

‘Every night when I was young’, Oswald said haltingly, ’My mother would sing that song to me when I was going to bed. And every time, she would tell me: ‘Oswald don't listen to the other children. You're handsome and clever and some day, you will be a great man’.

Oswald noticed a pressure on the bed and looked up to see Ed sitting beside him. He averted his eyes from his kind smile.

‘She said that every time’, Oswald choked, feeling tears spilling down his cheeks, ‘That's all I have left now. Memories. And they're like daggers in my heart!’

‘Not forever’, Ed said gently.

Reaching into the top drawer of the bedside table he took out a glasses case and opened it. He took out the pair of glasses inside.

‘These were Ms Kringle's’, Ed said, ‘They’re all I have left to remember her by. But when I look at these, I don't feel sadness anymore. I feel gratitude. And do you know why?’

At the sight of the glasses, Oswald’s jaw clenched and he shook his head defiantly.

‘No. And I don't care’.

He threw the blankets off and got to his feet. More carefully this time albeit with more stability. He regarded Ed haughtily, a sour smile on his face.

‘This little visit is over’, he sniffed, ‘I will just simply bid you adieu’.

‘Yes because pushing me away has worked so well up until now’, Ed snapped, patience with Oswald’s posturing finally exhausted.

He was satisfied to see Oswald’s smile vanish as if Ed had slapped him in the face.

‘What?’

‘I know now that you were only doing what Galavan said because you were trying to protect me’.

‘I-that’s-why-why would I do that?’

‘Because you love me’.

‘Stop talking’, Oswald said with an attempt at a commanding tone that was completely undermined by the way his eyes dropped to the floor.

Oswald turned and made to walk away but Ed leapt up from the bed and intercepted him. 

‘For what it’s worth I’m flattered’, Ed said, ‘For some men, love is a source of strength. But for you and I, it will always be our most crippling weakness’.

‘Move aside, Ed!’ Oswald said, more forcefully this time.

Ed could see a trace of the old indomitable mob boss beginning to surface. Just as he had planned.

‘We are better off unencumbered’, Ed continued.

‘What did you say?’ Oswald asked quietly, hands curling into fists.

‘You said it yourself. You love me and Galavan used that against you. Your weakness was me. Your one mistake’.

Oswald grabbed hold of Ed’s collar with disarming strength and held a knife to his neck. Ed remained calm but inwardly cursed his own lack of foresight for not ensuring Oswald hadn’t managed to secret a weapon when he had been in the bathroom or out of the apartment.

‘Shut up!’ Oswald shouted, ‘I didn’t know what I was saying because of that damn perfume! But just in case, maybe I should remove the risk permanently. Like a gangrenous limb!’

‘A man with nothing that he loves is a man who cannot be bargained!’ Ed cried, ‘A man that cannot be betrayed. A man who answers to no one but himself and that is the man that I see before me. A free man’.

He could see Oswald was listening despite his fury. Oswald wanted to believe him: his instinctive desire for vengeance becoming stronger every moment. Ed drove the point home as he felt the knife edge lowering. 

‘Right now, you are more powerful than you have ever been. What does a dead man have to fear?’

Behind them, the recording came to an end.

Oswald’s grip gradually loosened on Ed’s collar and after a few moments, Ed was confident enough to take the knife from Oswald. Oswald handed it over without a fight.

‘Galavan should know: nobody stays dead in this town’, Oswald said, ‘Fine. We work together against a common enemy. No...'distractions’'.

‘Agreed’. 

‘And you _never_ mention what I said ever again’.

‘Agreed’, Ed said after a barely noticeable hesitation. 

**

The groundwork for the plan was easy to lay.  
While Oswald recuperated in Ed’s apartment, Ed would continue to work at the club. The better to observe their quarry, determine a way to neutralise the hypnotic perfume and topple Galavan from power once and for all.  
Galavan, satisfied that his enemy had been vanquished, had wasted no time in making the Lounge his own. Renamed ‘The Sirens Club’ (at Tabitha’s request), the classy blue colours and icy theme Oswald had favoured had been ripped out in favour of sultry red shades and neon lights.  
Galavan also dropped any subtlety about the ‘services’ on offer, his political position ensuing both that there were no objections and that business boomed amongst his contemporaries. Income went up but staff satisfaction plummeted.  
Ed watched the changes with a detached eye and fully complied. He retained his popularity and worked hard, always careful to compliment Galavan’s ideas and new policies. 

One night, Tabitha cornered Ed one night after work in the locker room.

‘Heard you’re working here full time now’.

‘The pay’s better full time here than working two jobs’, Ed replied.

He and Oswald had both decided early that Ed’s job at the GCPD was now untenable. Revenge was a full time job and Ed needed as much recon time as he could get. Distancing himself from the GCPD would also allow him more free reign to improvise and less people to answer to should he need to escalate things or disappear for a while.

‘Why are you even still here at all?’ Tabitha asked, crossing her arms.

‘I like working here’, Ed said obviously, irked by Tabitha’s rude tone.

‘Even though your benefactor’s gone?’

‘Benefactor? Please’, Ed said, rolling his eyes, ‘I flirted with him a bit to get what I needed and Oswald took things too seriously. You know how it is in this business’.

‘Is that what you’re trying to do with Theo? Because all your sucking up is rubbing people the wrong way’.

‘Your brother doesn’t seem to mind a bit of harmless flirting’, Ed countered, ‘Are you implying Theo’s a moron like Oswald was?’

‘No guilt at all then?’

‘Guilt is a useless emotion’, Ed said coldly, ‘Forgive me for not being the public face of grief for a monster who killed the woman I loved’.

The door opening halted the argument.

‘Everything alright here?’ Galavan asked as he entered, ’By the way, excellent work out there tonight Riddler’.

‘Yes Sir’, Ed replied immediately, ‘Your new lighting system really helped’.

‘Not really but good timing’, Tabitha said, turning her full attention to Galavan, ‘Can we talk about some of these issues now? The girls have been saying that your ‘friends’ aren’t paying them and-‘

‘Tabitha would you excuse us please?’ Galavan said brusquely, ‘There’s something I need to discuss with Riddler’. 

‘Theo, you know this guy’s just playing with you, right?’ Tabitha demanded.

Ed made a point to glare at her and shake his head in disgust. Galavan looked from him to Tabitha.

‘Does it bother you?’ Galavan asked.

‘Kind of, yeah. The flirting’s really obnoxious’.

Galavan grinned impishly.

‘Then why should I make him stop?’ he asked.

Tabitha stormed out without another word.

‘Sir, I would never-‘ Ed began but Galavan patted his shoulder.

‘I know Riddler. Tabitha’s a tad…overprotective sometimes. You’re an only child aren’t you?’

Ed nodded.

‘Then you will never know the simple joy of ticking a sibling off just for the Hell of it’, Galavan said with mock sympathy.

‘Sir, if my behaviour’s causing a problem…that is, I don’t want to drive a wedge between the two of you’.

‘Your behaviour is what I want to discuss but not because it’s a problem. I want to make you my personal assistant’.

‘Me?’ Ed asked with genuine surprise.

‘Of course’.

‘But other staff members have been here longer than me’.

‘They’re not as open to change as you are and the very fact you’re not rushing to grab it shows you’re right for the job. You seem to be the only employee here who know who’s in charge’.

‘I think Butch has been expecting the position’.

‘Then Butch shouldn’t act like he runs the place when he’s little better than a receptionist’, Galavan said, brow furrowing, ‘It’s not his fault though. Tabitha can be quite convincing when she wants to be’.

‘Are those the only reasons, Sir?’ Ed asked, playfully stroking Galavan’s arm.

It was a bold move and he knew it. He had never physically touched Galavan since the day on the docks but thought at least the buoyancy of the promotion would give him an ‘out’ should Galavan push back. ‘Caught up in the moment’.

‘I’ll admit the view definitely improves when you’re in the room’, Galavan chuckled knowingly, entertained by Ed’s fishing for compliments, ‘So, do you accept?’ 

‘Is that even a question?’ Ed laughed.

**

Unfortunately, becoming Galavan’s personal assistant, while a valuable promotion in theory, did not aid in furthering Ed’s formation of a strategy.  
Personal assistant amounted to managing Galavan’s appointments and various mundane tasks such as dry cleaning rather than having access to personal information. It seemed Galavan was wary of Ed even as he seemed to relish Ed’s flirting. Tabitha’s increasing annoyance with their supposed ‘closeness’ was simply a superficial bonus.  
Ed realised if Galavan’s defences could not be breached then the key was to convince Galavan to open the gates himself.  
Ed had already selected a sacrificial lamb cum suitable scapegoat.  
All he had to do was herd it to the slaughter.

**

Three weeks later, opportunity came knocking at Ed’s door.  
Ironically as a result of picking the lock to another one that he had deliberately left open.

‘Naughty naughty’, a musical voice chided.

Ed slammed the desk drawer shut, eyes wide as he looked up at the door.  
Barbara was leaning against it, eyes alight with mischief.  
Despite the necessity of his play acting, it rankled Ed to see Barbara look so pleased with herself. Upon hearing the distinctive, fast paced click of her heels, Ed had opened the door to Galavan’s office wide enough to attract suspicion, knowing Barbara would want to pounce on the hapless intruder herself rather than summon help.

‘If you’re looking for Theo’s magic bottle it’s not here’, she said.

‘Actually, I was looking for the evidence he has on me’, Ed half lied.

‘Why? Don’t like being Theo’s bitch?’

‘I don’t like to be on a leash’.

‘That’s not what your clients say’, Barbara taunted, closing the door behind her.

‘You can’t tell me you’re happy with how he’s been treating us’, Ed said.

‘No. I’m not. Then again you haven’t been helping with that have you? Since you agree with everything Theo says’.

‘Look, I just want out of here’, Ed said, pushing his glasses up, ‘We both want the same thing’.

‘Well, Theo’s not going to be stupid like some people and leave evidence lying around where anyone can find it. He’ll have it stored away in the safest place in the club’.

‘What do you mean by ‘leave evidence around’?’ Ed asked, brow furrowing.

‘When you killed that chick with the glasses you really shoulda dumped her purse’, Barbara said as if speaking to a child, ‘How’d you think I found Isabelle?’

‘Isabella’, Ed corrected, anger coiling in his gut at Barbara’s flippant attitude.

Despite Isabella trying to kill him and inadvertently destroy Oswald, Ed found he couldn’t be truly angry at her. He knew how it felt to do awful things for the sake of those you cared about. Realising Barbara had been the primary reason Isabella had been dragged into Galavan’s scheme made what Ed had planned for her all the sweeter.

‘Oh, who cares?’ Barbara shrugged offhandedly before her smirk resumed, ‘And now I’ve found you. Theo’s new favourite poking around where he doesn’t belong’.

She perched on the desk and placed her index finger against her chin in an exaggerated show of uncertainty.

‘Or…were you?’ she asked meaningfully.

‘Maybe I was never here’, Ed said, picking up on her insinuation, feigning a grudging respect at Barbara 'outmanoeuvring' him.

‘Maybe', she grinned, 'There would have to be some other changes around here to make that a reality though’.

‘Example?’

‘Well, for starters…‘

**

‘You think it’s funny lording it over us like Nygma?’ Tabitha challenged, ‘You’ve only been in the job two days and you’re acting like the Queen of Sheba’.

Barbara rolled her eyes as she opened the utility room. Tabitha surveyed her, nails clicking as they drummed against the wall.

‘It’s not my fault Theo picked me as floor manager instead of you’, Barbara retorted, ‘I’m just doing what a good manager does’.

‘Cleaning up puke in one of the private rooms?!’ Tabitha said with disbelief, ‘Babs, he only made you manager to drive a wedge between us and teach us a lesson!’

‘Are you saying I don’t deserve this?’ Barbara asked, flinging the door open.

Tabitha just about stopped it from hitting her in the face.

‘I’m saying why the Hell are you so happy with a ‘manager’ role and I use the term loosely when we could be running our own place?!’ Tabitha demanded, following Barbara into the storeroom.

She was startled when Barbara grabbed her close and shut the door behind her.

‘Because it’ll help us get our own place!’ Barbara hissed, ‘That’s why! And you are not making it easy for me to keep this stupid act up!’

‘How will you being manager help get our own place?’ Tabitha asked, confused.

‘Getting this job was just a free sample’, Barbara grinned, ‘Trust me Tabby, I got this. You just keep making nice with Theo for now (even if he keeps being an asshole) and before he knows it, we’ll be running him out of business with his own cash backing us up’.

‘What are you up to?’

‘I can’t tell you’, Barbara said, silent pleading in her eyes, ‘You can’t tell him what you don’t know’.

Tabitha hugged her, kissing her shoulder.

‘I trust you’, she said, ‘Just don’t do anything stupid okay?’

As Tabitha drew back, Barbara gave her a peck on the cheek and stroked her hair.

‘I’ll be fine’, she said with a wink as she grabbed the mop she had been looking for, ‘I got insurance’.

**

‘Do you really need the gun?’ Ed deadpanned, ‘I fully intend to cooperate’. 

‘Call it insurance’, Barbara said, eyes flicking towards the door again, ‘How long is this gonna take?’

Ed was hunched on the floor beside her, eyes narrowed as he focused on the task of unlocking the club’s safe.  
As floor manager, Barbara had been entrusted with safe’s location and, as Ed had expected, had wasted little time in abusing both her access and her leverage over Ed for his lockpicking skills. The safe was hidden amongst various storage boxes, disguised as a simple wooden box but scrape marks on the floor in front of it had proven an obvious clue to its location. Obvious enough that as soon as Barbara had found it, she had wasted little time in jamming a gun to Ed’s back as an incentive for him to try breaking into it.

‘A few seconds more’, Ed said, listening closely as he turned the dial clockwise.

‘Fine’, Barbara said, examining her nails to hide her nervousness.

‘You really need more cash with ice like that on your finger?’ Ed observed.

‘It was a birthday gift from tabby’, Barbara said, smiling at it fondly,’ A promise of things to come. By the way, ‘ice’? Does anybody say that anymore?’

‘Did you know diamonds don’t actually sparkle as much as moissanite?’

‘Huh?’

‘People want to spend all that money on something so dull looking’, Ed said, pausing momentarily to readjust his grip on the dial, ‘But they overlook the shinier stone. At the end of the day a diamond’s just a rock but people want them simply because others say they’re valuable’.

‘Wasting time Nygma’, Barbara snapped, clicking the safety off her weapon, ‘If we’ve got time for a geology lesson you’re taking too long!’

‘Itchy trigger finger’, Ed said then gave a satisfied sigh as there was a heavy sounding clunk.  
He opened the door and straightened up, dusting off his knees.  
‘By the way diamonds also do not conduct electricity’, he concluded.

‘Fascinating’, Barbara said mockingly, ‘Now move aside’.

Ed obliged, leaning against the wall as Barbara knelt down. Ed watched her face light up at the sight of the safe’s contents.

‘You know what does conduct electricity?’ Ed asked under his breath.

Barbara did not hear the question but got the answer anyway as soon as she touched the open safe door.  
She didn’t even get a chance to scream before she was electrocuted, her hair visibly frizzing as the current surged through her system. Ed watched impassively as her jaw clenched and her back arched impossibly. Ed kept a careful eye on the gun but it did not go off despite Barbara’s finger on the trigger. It hadn’t been loaded or Barbara had not disengaged the safety.  
Either one was an unforgiveable mistake. And not one Barbara would be repeating.

After a few moments, Ed removed the secretly insulated gloves he had used to open the safe and flicked a switch on the wall behind the safe, cutting power to the safe’s security device Oswald had warned him about.

Barbara fell to the floor, her limbs twitching in an unpleasant mockery of lifelike movement even as her cloudy eyes stared unseeing at the ceiling.  
Ed carefully stepped over her and knelt down. His brow furrowed as he surveyed the safe’s contents. Cash and miscellaneous paperwork. Valuable to any enterprising thief but worthless for Ed. No perfume and no evidence against him. He would have to resort to the more challenging backup plan he and Oswald had decided on together.  
He should have known better than to expect Barbara to be the answer to their prayers. Her greed and ego had been to easy to manipulate: with so little effort, how could he have expected the payoff to be worthwhile?

‘Dumb as a rock’, Ed commented coolly, closing the safe, ‘But you sparkled perfectly’.

Ed politely waited for Barbara’s limbs to stop jerking and for the grotesquely appetising smell of roast meat to fill the air before removing the diamond ring from her claw like finger. He left the gun in her hand. He put the ring in his pocket as he left the office, locking the door behind him.  
A little fish was only good for one thing: bait for a bigger one and Ed had plenty left to fry.

**

‘Listen Theo if this is about the drinks being watered down, I’ve thought about whatcha said and you know what, you’re right it will save money’.

‘I know it’s your game Butch but don’t play dumb’, Galavan said icily.

‘What are ya talking about?’ Butch said with a nervous laugh.

He and Tabitha stood on one side of Theo’s desk. Ed stood beside the seated Theo on the other. Overhead a fan spun idly but Butch adjusted his collar despite the cool air. Tabitha stood impassively, arms at her sides, exercising careful control over her body language. The only indication she was ill at ease was the way her eyes sometimes strayed to Butch’s side of the room before she would yank them back towards Theo.

‘Barbara pulled a gun on me an hour ago and forced me to open the club safe’, Ed said.

Butch gave a compulsive laugh, assuming a joke, but it died in his throat when he realised only he and Tabitha were in the room. Tabitha realised the same thing simultaneously.

‘Where is she?’ Tabitha asked, her worried eyes a contrast to her uninterested voice.

‘You don’t seem surprised’, Ed commented, ‘Did you know what she was doing?’

‘No way!’ Butch said, ‘She didn’t say nothing about…’

He trailed off, realising Tabitha was not joining him in his denial. Looking at her, he saw she had turned her face away.

‘Tabby?’ Butch asked.

Ed almost felt sorry for the big lug. 

‘I didn’t believe it either until I saw this’, Galavan said, picking up a remote.

On a nearby TV, the screen crackled into life and a security tape of the safe room began to play. They all watched as Barbara marched Ed into the room, a gun pointed at his back and gestured to the safe. Ed opened the safe and Barbara knelt down, reaching for the vulnerable funds inside.  
Galavan clicked the remote again and the screen went black.

‘Tell me that Barbara was acting alone’, Galavan commanded, slamming the remote onto his desk.

‘That would be a lie’, Ed said before Tabitha could reply.

‘Why?’ Galavan asked.

‘I took the initiative and found this in Tabitha’s locker, Ed said, holding up a pale pink piece of paper, ‘The signature and the syntax match perfectly’.

Ed passed it to Galavan, mentally congratulating himself on the little details on the note. Barbara’s signature had been easy to forge (she had her own business cards she gave out to clients), he had been sure to include the little anecdote about the ring and had even sprayed the card with a hint of Barbara’s perfume for authenticity.  
The hardest part of the entire scheme had been persuading Galavan to promote the hedonistic and often erratic Barbara to ‘floor manager’.  
After that, Barbara had danced to Ed's tune the whole way to the waiting trap. 

‘You son of a bitch!’ Butch growled, ‘You forged that!’

‘There’s too much personal information to be forged’, Galavan said with distaste, ‘It goes into…’intimate’ detail concerning the physical side of your relationship. Involving all three of you’.

Galavan crumpled the note slowly, crushing it into a jagged wad that he dropped unceremoniously into the wastebasket. Ed had to fight the muscles in his face from forming into a smile. Those parts had been guesswork but judging from the way Butch was squirming, they were more fact than fiction.

‘Just tell me you weren’t going to leave Tabitha’, Galavan said, voice unsettlingly serene, ‘Tell me Barbara was acting alone’.

‘Where is she?’ Tabitha asked again.

‘Answer me!’

Tabitha flinched as Galavan shouted and banged the table but quickly recovered, her shock eclipsed by her long restrained frustration beginning to break through.

‘Fine! It’s true. We were going to leave. Barbara, Butch and me’.

‘Why?’ Galavan asked.

‘Because you’re an asshole Theo!’ Tabitha barked, ‘Ever since you’ve taken this place over it’s become a dump! You give your friends free rides and let them abuse the employees then top up their drinks on the house! This isn’t your own little castle you get to be king of! This was our place and you said you’d give it to us when we got rid of Penguin. Instead you’re worse than he ever was. At least Penguin gave a damn about this place. All you care about is living it up and this liar who tells you what you want to hear!’

The office rang with the echoes of Tabitha’s condemnation. It was only when silence had resumed and outstayed its welcome that Galavan spoke, his voice emotionless.

‘I see’.

Tabitha’s head dropped, a physical sign that she was well aware that she had most likely signed her and Butch’s death warrants.

‘You ruined everything!’ Butch roared at Ed, ‘You’re a snake!’

‘The only thing I ruined was your pathetic little plans’, Ed retorted.  
He threw Barbara’s ring onto the floor at Tabitha’s feet.  
‘And I didn’t even have to try’, Ed added snidely, smiling as he saw Tabitha’s eyes widen as she recognised the ring.

Tabitha instantly lunged for Ed, emitting a savage noise akin to a wildcat’s snarl.  
Ed didn’t flinch and instead activated the taser in his left hand.  
It caught Tabitha in the neck.

Butch started forward, eyes blazing as Tabitha began to spasm. Only to be jabbed with the taser Galavan had been holding on his lap. 

The two afflicted bodies fell in tandem, Tabitha landing draped over Butch. The position of the bodies almost made it look as if Tabitha was trying to protect him from further harm.

‘Another mess to clean up’, Galavan grumbled, reaching for the intercom.

Ed placed a hand gently on Galavan’s arm.

‘Mr Galavan, please, let me deal with their punishment’.

‘Why?’ Galavan asked, brow rising in both surprise and intrigue.

‘Because they’re traitors and I want to prove how wrong they are about me’, Ed said simply, ‘Also Isabella’s blood is on their hands as much as Oswald’s. To put it bluntly, I want the full set’.

‘I admire your dedication’, Galavan said appraisingly, ‘Alright. Make an example of them’.  
He seemed to consider for a moment then added coldly: ‘Bring me a souvenir to show the job’s done’.

Galavan pressed the button on his intercom and gave the necessary instructions. Within moments, Tabitha and Butch’s unconscious bodies had been spirited away without a trace by his flunkies. When the door to the office was closed and they were alone once more, Ed spoke up.

‘Are you alright Sir?’ Ed asked delicately.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because I know how it feels to be betrayed. It’s can be very isolating’.

‘The only emotion I’m feeling is disappointment’, Galavan laughed bitterly, ‘Amazing how you can expect so little of people and still be underwhelmed. I thought you would have derived some sort of satisfaction from this’.

‘Only from the thought of those three getting what they deserved. They’re the ones who dragged Isabella into this. Barbara told me everything’.

‘You don’t blame me?’

‘Why would I? You were going to let Isabella walk away. Oswald killed her and you helped me avenge her death. I’m grateful to you’.

‘Is that the only emotion you feel for me?’

Ed took a moment to find the words, rubbing his hands together in a deliberate display of bashful uncertainty.

‘You know how I feel Sir’, he said, allowing wistfulness to creep into his tone, ‘But I also understand if you can’t believe me. A man in your position doesn’t have the luxury of trust’.

Ed could feel Galavan’s eyes on him and met his searching stare deliberately, allowing his eyelids to flutter and his lips to part as if intimidated by the scrutiny. Exactly as he and Oswald had practiced in preparation for this scenario.

‘You’re far too smart to do something as suicidal as betray me’, Galavan said with finality.

‘Can-can I prove it to you? Please?’ Ed asked, careful to maintain a balance between innocence and obvious eagerness despite it, ‘I-I don’t think I ever showed my appreciation for all you’ve given me’.

‘You ask so nicely’, Galavan smiled, leaning back in his chair, ‘It’s adorable’. 

Ed swallowed, noticing an obvious bulge in Galavan’s trousers as he spread his legs wide.

‘Perhaps I will indulge for a change’, Galavan continued, eyes locked on Ed.  
Ed licked his lips as Galavan began to undo his belt.

‘On your knees’, Galavan purred, ‘Riddler’.

**

‘Damn you Ed!’ Oswald gasped as he continued to pump, eyelids fluttering as the threshold rose up before him.

The painkiller cocktail that Ed had been subjecting him to to aid with his recovery, whilst effective, came with an unexpected side effect. One that Oswald was too embarrassed to question Ed about and was forced to deal with himself every day before Ed came home.

He thought about Ed seeing him naked, running his hands along his body, exploring him, finding that special spot inside him that-!

Oswald came with a cry, his seed caught in the waiting tissue ready for disposal. It was a small mercy to Oswald that it never took him long to cum thanks to the high that accompanied the arousal. It was definitely not because Oswald often found himself thinking of Ed when he left for work. Or when he could hear Ed sleeping in the same room as him. Oswald knew it was foolish and he should stop. That it was wrong to use Ed as an outlet for his own carnal pleasure and even more so given that they had both sworn not to act on whatever ‘feelings’ they may or may not have.  
But when Oswald thought of Ed, be it due to scientific chemistry or something more metaphysical, the pleasure always intensified a hundredfold. He wondered idly if it was perhaps a lingering side effect of the perfume.  
His thoughts were interrupted by the noise of a key in the lock. Yanking up his pyjama pants and disposing of the tissue, Oswald pulled the blanket back up just as Ed came in.

Ed didn’t say anything when he entered. He simply grabbed his pyjamas from the couch and went into the bathroom.

‘Ed?’ Oswald asked as the door slammed shut.

A few second later, Oswald heard the shower thunder into life.

**

Ed emerged half an hour later to find Oswald sitting at the kitchen table. There was a cheese toastie on a plate sitting across from him with a strong cup of coffee beside it, identical to Oswald’s own setting.

‘I don’t think it’ll be as nice as the sandwiches you make’, Oswald said self-consciously, ‘I wanted it to be ready for you getting out. You took longer than usual’.

Ed smiled gratefully as he sat at the table, his stomach rumbling despite the queasiness that had plagued his system since leaving the club. He felt a slight lump in his hoarse throat when he realised Oswald had remembered he had once named ‘cheese toasties’ as his favourite comfort food.

‘It’s just what I need’, Ed said, reaching for his sandwich, ‘Thanks’.

They ate in silence until Oswald, the oppressive atmosphere too much for him to bear, finally cracked.

‘Ed, if it’s too much-that is, if you can’t keep going-‘

‘I can take it’, Ed said without heat.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Ed wanted nothing more than to talk about it.  
But most of all he wanted to tell Oswald that imagining him standing above him was the only way he had endured it.  
Endured Galavan grabbing his hair painfully and ramming into his mouth again and again, bruising Ed’s mouth as Ed gagged on his length, bitter saliva slobbering down his chin-

‘I think I just want to go to bed’, Ed said, getting up too abruptly to be casual.

He gathered the dishes in a few fluid motions and went to the sink. As he carefully lowered the crockery down, Oswald said quietly:-  
‘You don’t get to push me away either’.

Ed could feel Oswald looking at him but could not turn around. He placed both hands on the countertop, taking comfort from the strong, smooth wooden surface.

‘I had to resort to the backup plan today’, Ed said.

Ed heard Oswald give a small inhalation and braced himself for the condemnation, the frustration that Ed had had to resort to what was essentially a desperation move, disgust that Ed had sacrificed his dignity to an unworthy, filthy insect like Galavan-

‘Are you alright?’

Somehow, Oswald’s quiet and genuine concern was so much worse. Because the temptation to throw himself into the other man's arms was nearly impossible to resist.

‘We both knew it might have to come to this’ Ed said matter of factly, ‘I couldn’t think of any other way to fully gain his trust’.

‘But, are you alright?’ Oswald pressed gently.

‘I’ll be fine after a good night’s sleep’, Ed said, ‘How’s your shoulder?’

‘Better’, Oswald said, ignoring the way it was twinging after his earlier ‘self care’ session.

Neither man believed the other but both let the respective matters drop in favour of simple conversation. Before long, both were laughing and smiling again.  
When the cuckoo clock on the wall struck eleven, Ed brought Oswald his medication as usual as they began to turn in for the night. As Oswald swallowed the pills, he gestured towards the bed.

‘Do you want to sleep in the bed tonight?’ he asked, ‘I-I changed the sheets today’.

Ed knew what Oswald was really asking.  
He was asking Ed to join him in bed. All Ed had to do was say yes. Stop pretending he hadn’t accidentally overheard Oswald pleasuring himself in the bathroom with Ed’s name on his lips. Stop ignoring the way Oswald always sat so close to him on the couch when they watched TV. The smile Oswald only let Ed see.  
But Ed had to make sure they were safe and the only way to do that was to stay strong.

‘The couch is fine for me’, Ed said easily, ‘Your leg couldn’t handle sleeping there’.

Ed hated the disappointment that flickered across Oswald’s face but was glad to see it didn’t linger. Oswald, equally practical, headed for the bed.

‘Okay then’, he said in a tone of practiced neutrality, ‘Goodnight Ed’.

‘Goodnight Oswald’, Ed said, flicking off the light.

The darkness helped Ed not see Oswald watch him longingly from the bed. As he huddled beneath his blanket he wondered if the couch had always felt so large and empty.


	11. Famous Last Words

‘How many times do I have to tell you that I got nothing to tell you?!’

Ed pressed the button yet again and Butch spasmed as electricity coursed through his veins, courtesy of the headware Ed had designed for him. Butch slumped forward as the voltage ceased, groaning.

‘Well, then I suppose I should put my attention elsewhere’, Ed said matter of factly, approaching Tabitha.

She was clamped into a chair next to Butch. Her dark eyes glowered at him over the gag in her mouth.

‘No, no!’ Butch cried hoarsely, ‘Leave her out of this!’

‘Afraid I can't do that. She is an integral part of your penance', Ed said simply, 'It was such a pleasant surprise when Theo and I discovered that the two of you were together. You know, after the initial gag reflex’.

‘Speaking of gag reflexes, what made you think anyone would ever fall in love with a freak show like you? Oh, wait. Let me guess. I bet she had a certificate, too, huh?’

Ed gave him another, smaller shock. Just a sting for daring to think his little insult could distract Ed from what he had to do.  
Noting that Tabitha was trying to talk, Ed reached over and removed her gag.

‘What do you want?’ she hissed, ‘Tell me what you want’.

‘I want to break Butch's heart before I end his life. You know, kind of an eye-for-an-eye thing. But in this case, I'll take a hand’.

Ed turned and walked towards a covered trolley. Behind him, he could hear both Tabitha and Butch struggling. It was pointless. He had ordered everything from ‘Stocks and Bondage’. The only thing that opened those mechanisms was a safeword. As he wheeled the trolley towards his captives, he glanced at the camera set up on a tripod. Theo had wanted proof and Ed had promised he would have it. In glorious technicolor no less.  
He halted in front of Butch and Tabitha and, with a flourish, whipped off the covering. He was gratified to see their eyes widen at his creation.  
A miniature guillotine wired to a timer.

‘Ta-da!’ Ed smiled, ‘I designed it myself. You want to see how it works? Okay! I love a captive audience. So, we'll set the timer for, say …55 seconds’.

He demonstrated by setting the alarm and slipped a thick block of wood through the hole.

‘Now’, he continued,‘When the timer hits zero, the spring-loaded blade is released. Simple’. 

He held up a trigger mechanism and walked to Tabitha, the lead connecting it to the guillotine trailing behind him like a serpent’s tail.

‘Now. For the fun part’, he said, placing the trigger into Tabitha’s unwilling hand, ‘You can stop the blade from being released if you click this little button’.

He smirked as Tabitha’s fingers tightened suddenly around the trigger. Perhaps it was sinking in that her life depended on it. 

‘But if you do’, Ed said, obscuring the trigger in case Tabitha’s itchy trigger finger decided to ruin the fun early, ‘It will send a fatal jolt of electricity to zap Butch’.

Confident that Tabitha would not drop the trigger, Ed moved away. 

‘It's a simple test, really’, he said, leaning on the trolley, ‘Stop the blade from falling and kill Butch, or…’

He trailed off as the timer dinged. The mechanism whirred and the diamond edged blade fell. The cleanly bisected block of wood hit the floor with a heavy clunk. 

‘The choice my dear, is yours’, Ed pronounced, ‘Will we hear the zap of heartbreak? Or the sound of one hand clapping?’

Right on cue, Butch began to beg.

‘Ed, come on. Come on, let's talk about this, huh? Come on, Ed. You don't have to do this. Come on, let's talk about this. Come on! Listen! I told you Penguin killed Isabelle-‘

‘Isabella!’ Ed yelled, ‘Why is that so difficult?! Also, I'm not the one you should be pleading with. Your life is in her hand’.

‘What difference does it make?’ Butch asked, ‘Theo told you to kill me one way or the other, right? Make an example?’

Ed clicked his tongue thoughtfully then brightened.

‘Good point’, he said, ‘New deal. If she loves you enough to sacrifice her hand- twinsies!-in exchange for your life. I swear on the memory of my beloved Isabella, I will convince Theo to set you both free. I can be very persuasive’.

Ed licked his lips suggestively and Tabitha’s lip curled.

Ed set the mechanism. The timer began to tick.

‘Tabby. Baby, come on’, Butch said, ‘We can get out of here, we can-‘

‘I like you, Butch’, Tabitha interjected, ‘I really do. But to be completely honest, I'm not exactly in a ‘love’ place right now’.

Tabitha looked down at the trigger and Butch’s face crumpled. Ed laughed.

‘Sorry, big fella’, he said, ‘I wish I could say that I was surprised, but I knew that she was going to say that’.

He held up a hand and stage whispered behind it.

‘It's why I made the offer. You gonna tell him Tabby or should I?’

‘Tell me what?’ Butch asked.

‘Don’t’, Tabitha said, her pleading undertone at odds with her angry expression.

‘Tell me what?!’ Butch asked again, eyes locked on Tabitha.

Tabitha sighed harshly, fingers tightening on the trigger. 

‘Butch, the only reason you think you love me is because I’ve been dosing you with perfume from the day we met’, she said through gritted teeth, ‘I needed a way in to Penguin’s HQ and you were it. What you think we had wasn’t real. It was never real’. 

Her head swivelled as she heard Butch chuckle softly. 

‘Tabby. Baby. I know that’, Butch said.

Tabitha’s eyes widened.

‘What?!’

‘When you told me about that stuff, I replaced your supply with regular perfume. It didn’t change how I felt about you’.

‘If you knew then-‘

‘Why didn’t I say anything?’ Butch finished, smiling resignedly, ‘Because-because I was worried I’d lose you. These last few weeks have been the best of my life. And it's okay you don't love me ‘cause I love you. And for a guy like me? That's-that's enough’.

Tabitha gaped and Butch turned his attention to Ed.

‘And you. Open your ears ‘cause looks like this’ll be the last time I tell you this. Penguin killed your lady but only ‘cause Theo told him where to find ‘er and I took him there. Tabby knew nothing about it! Theo fed Isabella to the wolves to save his own skin ‘cause he couldn’t stand a loose end! Just like us! And guess what? He’ll do the exact same thing to you! Once he gets bored of you sucking his-‘

‘Hey, Butch’, Tabitha said.

‘Yeah?’ 

He turned to look at her and was surprised to see she was smiling at him. For a moment he couldn’t read the expression in her eyes. It was only afterwards that he would realise he had never seen her scared before.

‘You're sweet’, she said quietly and dropped the trigger.

As it clattered to the floor, the alarm rang out. The blade fell. And a second later, Tabitha’s hand joined the trigger on the floor.  
Tabitha gazed at her bloodied stump with an odd, dispassionate expression then passed out.

‘No! No!’, Butch roared, ‘Untie me! Please, untie me! She's got to get to a hospital! Quick!’  
Ed regarded him like someone examining a spider under glass then pulled out a gun.  
Butch blinked as Ed pulled the trigger. Blood began to spurt from Tabitha’s stomach.  
Butch screamed in sheer grief and fury, the chair he was clamped into audibly creaking as he strained against his bonds. The last thing he saw was the barrel of the gun as the all too familiar sensation of electricity whited out the world.

**

‘I'd put that hand on some ice if you want to keep it’, Ed said.

Theo chuckled and put Tabitha’s disembodied hand back on her lap. She and Butch remained where Ed had left them, bloodied holes in both of their stomachs. Theo carefully stepped over the blood pooling on the warehouse floor and went to the camera. He extracted the tape and began to rip out the film.  
Ed’s fingers twitched in his pockets as he saw yet another potential source of evidence against Galavan disappear but he kept his dispassionate expression.  
The plan depended on it.

‘Didn’t you want the tape?’ Ed asked.

‘I watched it live’, Theo said, indicating the security cameras in the corners.

He stamped once on the casing, shattering it and dropped the film into the blood.

‘I enjoyed watching you work’, he said, ‘Very…intense’.

‘I’m glad’, Ed said, sidling up to Theo, ‘It’s not the only thing I’m good at’.

‘Indeed’, Theo smirked, ‘Shall we see how ‘persuasive’ you can be?’

He stroked Ed’s face and Ed fluttered his eyelashes. 

‘What about them?’ Ed asked, tilting his head towards Butch and Tabitha.

‘I think they’ll keep, don’t you?’ Theo asked, leading Ed outside to his waiting limo.

They got inside and the limo began to drive away. Theo pulled Ed onto his lap and began to lathe his neck with kisses. Ed fought the crawling sensation along his spine and moaned softly, burying his face in Theo’s neck. 

As Theo writhed beneath his tongue, Ed looked out of the limo’s back window and saw a shadowy figure, moving with a noticeable limp, enter the warehouse.

**

Butch’s first surprise was waking up. The second was that he hurt all over meaning he was alive. And the third was that he was in a hospital.  
He struggled to sit up, his limbs like dead weight and his heart racing from the effort. He was rewarded with the sight of Tabitha, unconscious, in the bed next to him. Throwing off his blanket, he staggered to her bedside, collapsing into a chair for visitors which groaned under the sudden weight. They were the only ones on the darkened ward, the gentle sound of Tabitha’s heart monitor the only sound.  
Butch looked at her face, trying to memorise everything about it. It was like seeing her for the first time all over again. His breath hitched as he brushed a stray hair from her face. She didn’t move. He looked down at her stomach, covered by the blanket, remembering the smell of the blood and the noise of the gun. 

‘Why'd you have to be brave, huh?’ he whispered, ‘I just got used to you being around. Partners, right? How am I supposed to keep people in line now, huh? I don't think I can do this without you’.

He sniffed and blinked hard.

‘You're one of the only people in the world who looks me in the eye when they talk to me. You know that? You laugh at my jokes. You actually like the way I look. I didn't think I'd ever feel like this again. I guess what I'm trying to say is-‘

Butch’s words devolved into a whimper then a compulsive sob.

‘Well, don't stop now. I was just getting misty’.

Butch gave a start at the all too familiar voice.

Oswald was standing in the ward, a bouquet of flowers in his head. Butch for one irrational moment thought he had died after all but Oswald was too solid, his presence too intrusive to be anything but real.

‘How?’ Butch asked, wiping at his eyes hastily, ‘Theo said you were dead’.

‘Theo thinks you’re both dead too’, Oswald shrugged, laying the flowers on Tabitha’s bed, ‘Ed certainly knows how to stage a murder scene doesn’t he? Smoke and mirrors, or in this case, blanks and blood packs’.

‘What are you doin' here?’ Butch asked warily, eyes glancing over Oswald as he sized him up.  
The other man was much scrawnier than he was but Butch didn’t fancy his chances in his weakened state.

‘Paying my respects’, Oswald said, looking at Tabitha.

He clicked his tongue before continuing. 

‘She's looked better, I must say’.

‘You will not hurt her’, Butch said, hands curling into fists.

‘Why would I do that?’ Oswald asked but then feigned realization, ‘Oh. I know. Because you both stabbed me in the back!’

His raised voice rang off the walls.

‘If you touch her, I will kill you’, Butch growled but struggled to rise, his limbs still shaky from Ed’s ministrations.

‘I like this new side of you’, Oswald sneered, ‘Soft, sentimental. Galavan has to pay, Butch. We have all suffered by his hand. Me, you, Ed. And now his own sister’.

‘Yeah? Tabs would still have both hands if it wasn’t for Nygma-‘

‘Think Butch! Ed had to make it look convincing! Or have you not noticed it’s been successfully reattached?’

Butch looked down and realised Oswald was right. Tabitha’s hand was wrapped in a thick bandage spotted with blood. He hadn’t noticed because he had been too scared to look at it. Too ashamed he hadn’t been able to stop it from happening.

‘Galavan must die’, Oswald said, ‘And I need Tabitha alive to do it’.

‘Why?’

‘I know why’.

Butch couldn’t help but give a soft cry at Tabitha’s voice.

She stirred in her bed, locking eyes with Oswald. Despite what she had endured, her voice was strong and sure.

‘You want information on Theo’, she said, ‘So you can kill him’.

Oswald nodded.

‘I’ll give it to you’, Tabitha said, ‘All of it’.

‘And when she does, you'll leave her alone?’ Butch interjected, placing a hand on Tabitha’s prone body protectively.

‘You’ll leave us alone’, Tabitha corrected.

‘I suppose’, Oswald said, rolling his eyes as Tabitha interlinked her fingers with Butch’s.

‘Promise!’ Butch demanded.

‘Geez’, Oswald groaned, ‘Fine. Yes. Whatever. Now, tell me everything’.

 

**

‘Is this your first time with a man?’ Theo asked.

Ed, tossing his head back as Theo stroked his cock, nodded. They were both kneeling on the bed in one of the Lounge’s premium rooms, Ed’s back flush to Theo’s chest. He could feel Theo’s erection prodding him in the back and he swallowed hard as he felt the length of it. He prayed the toys he had been preparing with in case of this eventuality would be adequate preparation. But he hadn’t expected Theo to be so big. He fought his nausea as Theo placed a hand around his throat and pulled him back, his breath hot against his flesh. Ed writhed as Theo’s fingers caressed his balls, hating how his cock stiffened at his touch. Even though he knew it was necessary, it felt as if his body was betraying him.  
Suddenly, Theo pushed him down onto his knees. Ed’s fingers gripped the bedsheets and he licked his dry lips as Theo held his head down, his glasses becoming askew against the bedspread. He felt Theo’s fingertip gently caress his hole and he cried out in surprise.  
Theo released his grip, letting Ed sit up.

‘I’m sorry!’ Ed said, trying his best to appear giddy and eager, ‘It just felt so-so different!’

‘Don’t worry’, Theo purred, ‘It’s your first time’.

He reached for his discarded jacket on the floor and withdrew a familiar bottle.

‘I’ll make sure it’s your best’, he promised, dabbing a bit of the perfume on his fingertip.

He brushed it against Ed’s lips and Ed made a show of falling under its spell even as his head remained perfectly clear. As Theo laid him down, on his back this time, and spread his legs, Ed forced his mind to wander. Anywhere else but there in the room. What was the saying? Lie back and think of England?  
Theo’s fingertips, still coated in the remains of the perfume and a fresh, generous portion of lube, began to circle Ed’s entrance.  
England wasn’t going to help Ed with his charade. He had to think of something that would help him…perform.  
As Theo began to tease one of Ed’s nipples, an image swam to the surface of his mind. A dream Ed had particularly enjoyed from the night before.  
Oswald, in a top hat and tails, lips moist and inviting as he serenaded Ed, his lean fingers swirling on top of the hat. Ed began to feel warmth spread throughout his system, making his head hazy. Oswald’s head tilted back sensually and Ed exhaled shakily as his heart fluttered. He could feel pre cum slipping down his length and he rotated the tip of his thumb around its head, chasing the sensation.  
Ed’s hips bucked automatically and he realised Theo had inserted a finger into his entrance.  
Buoyed by how well he had handled it, Ed refocused on the image of Oswald. How he would look above him instead of Theo. Oswald’s half hooded green eyes glittering as he licked his lips, his pale skin almost luminescent as he fingered Ed, preparing to take him. Claim him as his own. Because Ed was Oswald’s. Not Galavan’s. Galavan could fuck him, mark him but he wasn’t his. He loved-

‘Oswald’, Ed whispered.

As soon as the word left his lips, Ed realised what he had done. The question hadn’t been in his head at all.  
Like a tape on repeat, Ed heard Theo’s question: ‘Who do you belong to?’  
Ed’s own body had indeed betrayed him; his thoughts of Oswald mingling with the scent of the perfume blurring the line between reality and what Ed wished was reality.  
Theo’s eyes were like ice as he glared down at him.  
Ed smiled up at Theo defiantly even as he realised he had signed his own death warrant with a single, unguarded word.

'What did you say?' Theo snarled.

'You know what I said', Ed hissed.

‘Wrong answer, Riddler’.

Ed felt a hard impact, tasted blood, saw a brief red flash of stars then only darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Ed's chosen song in Chapter 01 is a slow, wordless version of 'Why Don't You Do Right?' by Peggy Lee


End file.
